I grew up in a tough neighborhood. (don’t stereotype me)
I was in a band. (for about 5 minutes)
I was in a few movies. (another 5 minutes)
I wrote my first “novel”at the age of 11. (an angst ridden piece about a girl who is kidnapped because she witnessed a crime)
I was actually kidnapped. (not at 11/that story is waiting for publication)
I always have wanted to own a Munster-like house.
I’ve gotten lost in every major city I’ve ever been (including abroad. Trust me when I say every country/every city has neighborhoods you don’t want to be lost in at dusk)
I keep a lot of random facts as well as insignificant details in my brain. (jokes don’t stick tho)
now the stalkers know – don’t be a stalker….
I have a tentative release date for West End on Audio – November 4th!
West End – hard copy available now.
My Poem, title above, will appear in Leprechauns and Love to be released in March!
Painting the roses, I still think
– The Kiss –
will be published in the August/September issue of Pilcrow and Dagger
Dark, dirty streets live in my mind
broken brick alleyways,
the color of blood in the midnight.
Streetlamps from another era
fasten me here for a short while.
The warm stickiness of old city grime,
it’s endless, never removed.
And I wonder,
Is this how it’s done?
Where the last step of a Jazz duo lay,
where the putrid decay of the dirty city lives?
Where words are scrawled across the walls in warm blood,
Is this where you find the poem?
Or just the poet,
Eeks, one of my first published poems; it appeared in Directions magazine about twenty years ago.
My short fiction story, “The Girl I loved in Middle School”, will be published by Number Eleven Magazine!
“Bruce was a six foot-two inch, two hundred and fifty pound eight grader who grew facial hair that matched the tufts sticking out of his shirt sleeves and neckline. Needless to say, he feared no one. I, however, did. She turned to him…..”
silence feels thick in your ears.
The clean air slips easily
into your lungs.
You become sharply aware
of the ocean
and the sky
moving with you.
Sleep comes deeply.
(Originally published in The Northridge Review)