All The Other Tables Were Taken

I was sitting alone at a cafe. All the other tables were taken. In he walks, and approaches mine. He asks; I motion; he sits. We exchange a few sentences, and many glances. Then finally..

“It’s too noisy in here.”
“Want to go talk in my car?”

The End.

Or rather, The Beginning.



There once was a beef BETWEEN

I was SMITTEN, stunted kitten,
mewling WHY NOT ME?

I had fallen and forgotten I was BORN
WITH TEETH, arrived reaching

with mouth OPEN, howling
let me see, let me see, let me see.


“Even if it’s not your ideal life, you can always choose it. No matter what your life is, choosing it changes everything.” Andre Agassi. Open.

Photo Prompt: satisfaction

Red Sea

for the broken-hearted

I married Moses.
He wasn’t Moses when I married him;
He was Pharaoh’s hand.

I married Moses
before something else touched him
before his holy brand.

We made plans
for progeny and pyramids,
to visit foreign land,

to cross the sea,
to be free,
but not like this,

I married Moses before we knew
the meaning of his name.

Murder Your Darlings

Murder your darlings,

but they won’t stay buried.

You don’t love because the world is lovable;

You love because you are love.



Word Prompt: bury

Inspiration: “Whenever you feel an impulse to perpetrate a piece of exceptionally fine writing, obey it—whole-heartedly—and delete it before sending your manuscript to press. Murder your darlings. But let me plead further that you have not been left altogether without clue to the secret of what Style is. That you must master the secret for yourselves lay implicit in our bargain, and you were never promised that a writer’s training would be easy. Yet a clue was certainly put in your hands when, having insisted that Literature is a living art, I added that therefore it must be personal and of its essence personal.” — Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch. ‘On the Art of Writing.’ via