Wickenburg, 2002

I notice that what I want to post here change cyclically, seasonally, as my interests do. Normally I'd post what we did in my last Drop-In Writing Workshop today, but now I'm feeling more satisfaction letting what takes place during those events happen ephemerally in that room at The Cabin. As I read through my old notebooks more quickly these days, fragments and raw rough writings are how I'd like to spend these pages at this time. I know that could and will likely change again in the future/ I'm getting better at listening to my curiosities as they shift,  instead of forcing myself to stay with one format or another because it's what I've been doing previously. 

Photo by Ernest Brillo on Unsplash

​the stucco
tall, wide, broad like desert
heavy, rough, dusty salmon

same as Arizona foothills
surrounding that strange acreage 
overwhelmed with lush grass

eat those boorish, massive walls
mouthfuls at a time
chew them up, grinding, smacking
swallow


inside i'm glass shards, rigid up/down
giant pane, expansive sliver
coated in spray paint

my chest a brittle wall
my shoulders, torso
on one side the loud mistakes

within that secret shames
hiding hurt hushed
on the other my face
​

​stage center
sliding glass doors
a place to escape