Sometimes, I get so tired of poetry.
It asks for so much–
makes me feel hungover.
Or if I am hungover–
makes me feel dumb
and slow.
As if merging on the freeway–
I am swallowed, trapped–
though it was my decision
to go.
Written April 2013
I delayed the inevitable as long as I could. But, when
The weather today in Bogotá, Colombia reminded me of Yukio Mishima
I just spent ten days marveling at Asia. But, despite the magic of