literature

Ode to my broken piano

On the days that I do not love you my love looks nothing like love. In fact, it looks much like not quite the opposite but an in between state: A half-working key, an almost soundless note pressed against my finger-tips.

More

Drury Lane

Name here, Sign here, sigh there, Wear and tear of the town, causes tearing of hair, baby cries — — closed eyes. Lullabies sung, Tumbling now that standing up has come, Standing on your own two cold feet, good bye — –I smell, the Muffin Man, hungry as I run to Drury Lane, a girl […]

More