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Continue reading →: Monday Morning
Monday Morning Coffee and creamed, truth and grace, or so it seemed. That mixture of strong and soft, and how oft I wanted to slip into a week, geeked and tweaked. But it’s Monday. A do over day, to pray, play, slay. Another new mercy…
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Continue reading →: Poor Over
Always early morning, when the quiet nudges me awake. Then the fridge hums, and the computer fan whisper syncs. In a trance, I hope the kettle cooperates for my mandatory pour over. Pour over coffee… On what grounds? Might I incriminate myself? The process gives me pause, literally. Have…
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Continue reading →: Pay Attention
Why? What do I owe attention? What service did attention ever give me? I keep ignoring the bill. Will it go into collections? Will late payment fees be charged? This will affect my credit rating. Why am I giving attention this much attention? Paid in full.
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Continue reading →: Single Spaced
Sometimes we don’t walk the line, We walk line by line, Single-spaced. The words between us like linear Gaps, unsettled, tucked in white, Double-graced. Breaks aren’t so bad as they seam, Little quiets where our bodies Single space.
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Continue reading →: High Cue
High Cue… A curtain open The Phantom of the Opera Cue my brokenness
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Continue reading →: Damage
These creaking bones, Whose support go Unappreciated All these years. These spots fleck My skin like dandelions. My face requited Their affections. This knob on my foot Offends me; By days end, Expresses its disdain. Those unseen organs Play their stanzas. Lungs like bagpipes. Heart, a kettle…
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Continue reading →: On Finding a Rhythm for 2019
I pray the arrhythmia of 2018 will shut down. I’m not talking government, unless it is my self-governing murmurs. Sure, the beat goes on, whether I feel the pounding or not. The heart is more than tissue, more than musculature. Mine? Well, do I will it to thrum? Nope. Anyway,…
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Continue reading →: Ahead…Ache
The throb huddled in the back corner. Eyes spliced open, no alarm, except dull pain. Thoughts, analyzation. “Not enough water?” “Caffeine deprivation?” “Dead pillow, flat?” Imagine that. Did I try to hoard worries instead of thinking them through? Did I stuff them, choking off synapses? By thoughts…
Gerald the Writer 