• Medium,  Poetry

    Condescension

    A poem. What if I still cryduring intractable conversationswhen I am oldin my professional career? Would you preferrobots?People replacerswith calculatorsbuilt-in. With age, wisdomdoes notautomatically bestowitself upon you. Emotional intelligence isnot tapped intolike a keg. Perhaps you wouldprefer it to be?…

  • Medium,  Poetry

    Self Saboteur

    A poem. A clackety-clack inthe gut might be butterfliesor indigestion. Wings of mothsflutteringabout open flames, courting the endof rerun tv dinner neon nightsand cold dark beds… Those wingsflutter too close to death,too close to vital organs. The heart is a…