Strike While the Iron is Hot



While I am not writing a poem a day this year inspiration still strikes from time to time, if I set down my phone and sit down with a pen and paper.


This piece wrote itself this week – here is a rough draft, just the way it appeared to me:


we may not look the same

but i’ve been where you are

on the precipice

looking down into the darkness

wondering if it will ever

get brighter

my hand on the bottle, the razor’s edge

the lover’s thigh, the rope,

the phone

thinking of calling out

reaching out

screaming for help

whispering no

crying yes

wondering why

dreaming of how

planning, wishing, fantasizing

that i was different

that they were something else

we were somewhere else

another time

era, continent

that you were me, and I, you

that we both had it easier

it’s got to be easier

someplace else

for other people, people like you.



Until next time,


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