Sadness is a child who conjures fire. He finds a railroad track in some woods by his Green Meadows mobile home, arranges some sticks and bark he scavenged from the ground on that track in the shape of a tent, and lights the loose bark underneath it with blue tip matches from under the kitchen… Continue reading Fire


I’m always trying to turn my fear into a fire I can’t extinguish. Right now I’m trying to turn my fear over not connecting with you, reader, into a kind of flexibility or acceptable wavering of that experience, though I suppose there is no real way to know for sure I’ve gotten through to you… Continue reading Fire


When I was one of those kids teachers talk about after everybody’s left for the day, digging in the dirt was the only thing that made me feel clean enough to inhabit. So there I was, in the grasses behind our back yard, with just my feet sticking out of the earth my cupped little… Continue reading Dirt


Each time a moustache hair hurts me I fantasize about spooning an anonymous woman in my twin bed and brushing my lips across the back of her head. I’m pretty sure I do this in order to feel what it might be like to be her face, since I like to fold perception back through… Continue reading Fire


I can’t remember a time I didn’t want to do something without thinking if I could understand it more deeply I could figure out how to feed it, like that moment you learn a fire needs less flame and more air for it to become a fire. I’ve never wanted to be a decider of… Continue reading Flame