15 clicks to eternity.
Somewhere between droll daily diction
Netflix queues and blue screen hours
the road less traveled
became a fashion destination
Our planet morphed into a shrunken head
smiling & tittering on a skeletal frame of an electric fireplace
We strive for perfection & flatness with depth
spend precious hours in the highest resolution
blind to any life beyond the wall
Atoms collide in space & men risk exploding matter
In search of dust clouds, new moons, and gravity
while Mother Nature exacts revenge
for ignoring her brilliance
Perfect shining skin/replacement bones
end days/no devil
Wine flows like water & we bottle our wishes in plastic
pouring our hearts out in binary code
reveling in each other’s spills
Laugh now/not funny
Why am I always bored?
I flunked out of college the first time around. I went back to school after my first marriage ended. My daughter was in middle school, I was a single mom working full-time, and I got my MFA taking night courses at The New School in NYC. I’ll be in debt till I’m 90, but it was well worth it. The New School opened my eyes to poetry, and I had the honor of learning from some of the greats. I smoked cigarettes in the 12th Street courtyard with Paul Violi, and drank whiskey with David Lehman. Sharon Mesmer was my goddess spirit guide and Elaine Equi was my thesis advisor.
I got doubly lucky in my studies–I met my wife, Jamie. We moved to New Mexico and I’ve been teaching undergraduate English, writing, and public speaking. I’m looking for that Holy Grail tenure track job back in New York where I can teach, write, and research new methods of teaching critical thinking, and maybe the female troubadours of the Early Renaissance.
Writing has always been my method of opening doors and breaking windows. I’m working on a poetry manuscript and a memoir, plus I have a book of short stories I’m trying to find the time to polish. I’m also a solitary practicing Wiccan, and I light candles wishing for peace, prosperity, protection, plus a few more hours in the day. yourmoonsmine.com