Monthly archives: April 2009


This is the closet that recedes forever.

And the shoes, oh the shoes that she couldn’t have worn more than once, still smelling ripe with leather and better yet cork and wood and straps with buckles – boxes and bags and cartons of stilts – not a flat among them, not a flip-flop or sandal. This is a real woman’s shoe collection, the heart of a class-affliction and home for close to a king’s ransom or the man’s life of devotion.

You can lay your head gently on them, the arch of the sole a pillow of leather, the fumes so lovely, rising from shoes and the scotch-guard shag, the kind that leaves rug burns to end all stains and don’t lean back too long, don’t stay so naked and don’t you ever let me catch you.

But the real prize lays ahead, the mother-of-all porn boxes full of the seventies, in all their grandeur. Everyone is hairy and everyone is fat and the positions these people take and the piles of flesh and holes and juicy, high-key lighting that makes everyone seem flat and old and cold and flimsy is more than can be handled.

So, base camp is established at the foot of the shoe tree, this Narnia-like orifice is too vast and full of wonder for this naked traveler.


(thank you to


Posted in Poetry | Comments Off on Closet


I’m stuck and that’s why you’ve seen nothing. I admit this to bring the closet writer-struggling BS out in to the open. My relationship to my inner self is still in the raw stages and I still have a hard time producing and writing and thinking.

Frozen. Cheers-

Posted in Adult Children, Zombie Life | Comments Off on Stuck

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