My grief is like a magician’s endless scarf — the more I let out the
Nightstand Journal
Shadows long after light is gone
end of life decisions
seep grieving guilt
into every crack
of broken hearts—
life is the always
ultimate sacredness
and to play god
feels sacrilegious—
even the right decision
reverberates as wrong
Chatterbox
Prose is poetry that can’t stop talking.
Sleepy
sunday afternoon
drowsiness fell off a cliff
landing in a nap
Personal injury
Sometimes a relationship can hobble along for years with an injured leg