In my room I is safe. From all those happenin’s out there in the big cruel world. I sees it. Oh Lord, do I see it. On that social media shit, comin’ in from all sides. This person dyin’ and that country gettin’ blown up. It has the ‘tential to get to a man, you know?

But here I is safe. Long as I don’t go out, don’t inneract on that social shit goin’ on in front of me. I don’t watch the news anymore. Too depressin’. Same thing all over again.

Makes a man want to never go out. I may jus’ starve here in my safe room. Better’n life out there.


“Here we are again.”

Yep, here we are again.

“What do you want to do?”

I dunno. The world is our oyster.

“We can do anything we want?”

Anything at all.

“Can we unbury you so you can hold my hand one more time?”

No. We can’t do that.

“I miss you.”

I miss you too, my love.

Senile – #AtoZ Challenge

It was a Sunday in June when Harold decided to throw everything his daughter owned onto the front lawn, because she wouldn’t clean up her bedroom. That she was a sixty-year-old grandmother herself, didn’t matter to Harold. He’d had enough of, as he put it, “Looking at that pigsty every time he walked past her room.” That he was visiting only for a few hours, also didn’t matter to Harold. In his mind, he was still a middle-aged widower, just trying to raise a young girl on his own.

Author’s Notes:

1. I sat down to write this with nothing in my head except “Harold” and “Sunday.” A perfect example of me not being in control.

2. I have no plans to write Adult Content fiction pieces for this challenge, but it happens, and it’s sometimes beyond my control if I’m to remain authentic to my muse. I will place a warning in the title of those posts which fall under the AC category.


I close my eyes and hear the sound of my breath
Nothing else haunts me tonight, I am alone
In touch with my deep blue thoughts I stay here
Wading among ghosts of dreams of long lost lovers

If time should be so kind to me, to bless me with one last kiss
…it will never be enough, for I will go on
In the vein of life that passes my lips as air
Swallowed up by the night, the darkness in my heart.

December 7, 2005


Your silence is like a fine coating of dust

That shrouds my room

My bed weighed down

Shards of sparkling glass

All around

So I sit, congested, congealed

Afraid to move

Lest I disturb your silence;

All that remains of you.



I always think of you, when I stand among the daffodils. The way their heavy heads bob on the breeze reminds me of when you agreed with me that one time. Do you remember?

I think we were driving to Niagara Falls. It was the first really warm day and the humidity was rising out of the ground from the rainfall we’d had earlier that morning. I remember that little detail, because, as I got into the car I stepped in a puddle and soaked my left sock… or was it the right one? No matter.

Anyway, we were on the QEW, approaching Burlington and the sun was coming up. It shone in the rearview mirror and just about blinded me and I said, “It looks like it’s going to be a nice day.”

That was when you nodded, and I thought of the daffodils.

And then we hit the patch of oil on the bridge. It was a long drop.

I miss you, mostly because it ended so perfectly.


I have observed the subject

As he sits in the centre of the room

Peering around the slouched, cotton-clad backs

Of the distracted,

And past the ramrod twill

Of the zealous

And I see he yearns

he craves

he screams out heartily

in his own placid way

with his naked, childish hunger

and his polyester trash-can-hand-me-downs

to fit.


How fast I run,
I run from the blade
But in dreams my feet won’t go fast

How hard I push
I push on the pedal
But in dreams the car still rolls back

How sad, I cry
I cry for the loss
But in dreams my family has passed

How deep I sleep
I sleep ’cause I must
For in dreams my life fades to black