Three bursts of pandemic poetry, courtesy of word magnets.
Musings on the power of the cursor.
After reading “My Family’s Slave,” Alex Tizon’s story in the Atlantic, my mind has been a cauldron.
An end-of-summer visit to the Neon Boneyard in Las Vegas, in haiku and photographs.
Entered that world once again,
and there he is, my dear friend gone.
I send a friend request, despite —
Just need a moment to pretend.
On Google Street View
We trace a map to our dreams
Along country roads
Sifting through my digital detritus
some rare moments of light
of the weight
I wish to escape
Such different life paths
From each other, and from mine
Yet New York City is like glue
Where these intersections materialize
I have nearly 50 drafts in my blog’s dashboard — waiting, forgotten, abandoned.