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Peak train to New Haven
(what happens there stays forever);
window seat,
greeting the fleeting
street lights with
vague interest.
But on the darkest nights
seeing only my reflection
in the pane.

lessons for my unborn child(ren) part 6

see love &c. part 10.

love &c. part 10.

love: do it for yourself.

too fly

to float.

love &c. part 9.

"god. damn."

then *sigh.

(repeat eternally.)

does a brick have an inside?

"if you can answer that, then you'll know what you're talking about."
-michael crichton, on charlie rose

love &c. part 8.

i guess you never love the same way twice.

holy fuck!

my response
in both hope (obama)
and dread* (everything else).

*as it turns out, i'm cutting mine saturday ;)

new york city

it's not a place to dwell
on anything or anyone, especially
the latter. since no one really matters
to anyone else. it's a selfish town,
but not devoid of compassion. though
one person's warmth can seem cold
to a soul with the city's fuel burning
in their veins, driving them in and out of its streets
and lives. and their warmth
can be scalding.
"keep moving, don't look back."
it's anathema to a dreamer, a wanderer. for us,
it's not a place to dwell.