In addition to winning “Most Likely to Join a Cult in 2010,” I spent a lot of time updating my site. I’ve been adding my older xanga posts, but I think I’m going to reach back even further. I’d like this to be a sort of journaling gallery reaching back to my earliest journals, many of which are pretty funny… I was a dorky little kid. This is truly emotional exhibitionism.

I also did a bit of writing and thought a lot about John Haynes today. Today I transferred 2004; his death was a big part of that year. I do miss him.

Here are the poems I wrote today:


a squash blossom
perfect and lovely
so often overlooked.


Autobiographie de Mom Affection

My heart is fragmented, the pieces promised to many and too few.
Wholeness feels distant, a great space waiting to be filled makes my own soul seem oddly empty.
Greatness has found me through those whose lives have been bigger than mine, more than mine – folks whose presence has occasioned my to feel touched by God.
I know a beautiful lady who seems younger each time I see her and have the fortune of calling her a friend and my mom.
I’ve known beautiful ladies who I feel connected to even years after death. Grandmothers, great grandmothers, great aunts, friends.
Life’s losses, so definingly sad for the melancholy are of people I love to remember. Friends, boisterous and infinitely humorous friends. The lives they touched now moving in various directions, away from them, not even grasping.
I’ve brothers and a father who have made some of the best friends of my life. They seem to loom above me, the things they’ve done so much more important that who I feel like I am at times. I love them for it.
Even children with their own special chaos find my heart and steal it. Nieces and nephews, little people I want great things for,
It’s me sometimes, but more often it is them. I’m not even a slight fraction of who I am without the friends and family that have made me, are still making me. My! How different things feel at thirty.



Let’s still be friends when we’re old and cranky,
turning to each other for the laughs that get us through the day.

Smile warmly over a silent coffee about the beautiful people we’ve known,
now scattered across the globe or lost. I’ll nod that I understand.

Sometimes, I can’t bear the estrangement I feel
when you’re in your own home and I’m in mine.
Be my friend until the last days of my life.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *