Long-ish Form

There I was at the light, full stop, when it happened. By a millisecond, I heard it first. Then in less than a breath felt the fullness of the impact. It was a rainy day in Delray, heavy rains that made the roads slick. I will die on the hill of Florida having some of the worst drivers in all of the fifty states. It doesn’t take much water in the air for me to see three or four accidents in the middle of perfectly unassuming roads, and on that day I was one of them.

“The Big Homie,” He scrawls in his blunt handwriting with a black expo marker. Then he looks at me, with that puckish glint in his eyes, and stabs a period next to it. “The Big Homie,” he says. Simple as that. This is my Rabbi’s answer to this question: What do you call your higher power? It’s worth mentioning that I am not Jewish and I didn’t meet the Rabbi in a synagogue. By some wonder of wonders, I met the Rabbi in a mental health in-patient facility for those who used

What does it mean to be in Love? How do you know when it has happened to you? Who has the right to say? Why must it be that Love must last until, when? Forever? Feelings aren’t facts, and impermanence is our reality; must we make forever out of our Love for it to be real? I would like forever. Someone who will wake up morning after morning and choose me, again and again. I want it for its predictability, the steadiness of it. A promise and then an action, an equation repeatin

Ocean waves, Smiles that dress up dead eyes, Oak trees in their death knell at autumn's core, Bellyaching laughter born of yearning and desire: Here are only a few of her ten-thousand faces. Grief is a beauty, dressed in steel and lace, oleander bedecking her hair. Her cheeks are full, her arms are strong and supple, her legs corded but soft; she is a master of disguise. Grief wears many faces, for she is the many faced god. We westerners get Grief all wrong.