A city of half closed doors turned inside out

I have made a garden of bones, of sinew
Flowers of synapse sparking lightning to the chill night air
Pathways of blood mark the dark ways wending to the heart
Sits beating a slow rhythm of hope
Topiarys of muscle expand and contract
Exposed nerves shiver in the wind
Thoughts and dreams play out across a storm strewn sky
Broken arrow teardrops fall piercing this exposure


My response:Scars are the physical manifestation of a life lived on the edge or in the darkness. My two great loves were people who comprised both of these. Their scars were mental and physical and I loved them more than I can adequately express in a lifetime. So of course, the answer must always be yes.


If the scars

of my mind

showed on

my body

would you





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A love supreme

I was listening to A Love Supreme, part IV Psalm by John Coltrane when I left work tonight. Walking through the empty halls, seeing the lights from the cars and my city. Listening to the melancholy, the denouement, the end of this brilliant piece of music.

I see the pairing of this energetic Jazz and the city as character. Made much more evident as I emerged into the night. On the roof of the parking garage, the panoply of lights and the city stretched out like, the Jazz bounding in my ears and heart. I feel a connection to the people of my city. I realize that I love them.

I don’t like most of them, I don’t know them. But at this moment, I am connected to them all, I feel boundless love for them. And as the last strains play, I want for only two things. One more play through of this sweeping music and you.

Whoever and wherever you are. I hope this finds its way to you.