ruff ruff

i talked to her over the phone
and she licked it. my mother told me
she was just back from the vet, a pound lighter,
with a nice, soft crew cut. my brother asked me about
the parakeet we had when we grew up. the one that
used to ride around on the back of daisy maidle,
our pup. davey crockett, i told him. but of course.

she's gone

a major inspiration in my life has died. my shadow of 20 years. my cat, my daughter, my loved one, the one who taught me how to love, who slept on my desk beside me as i labored over words, ideas, structure, subtext. my muse... how to transcend the depths of despair? how to go on without her? writing is so insignificant right now. i remember another time when i felt like that. when my father died. to the spirit, may it soar.

my mentor

I was thinking back to when I first found out that
Mark Rothko spent some time out here and
was even buried a few miles from my studio.....
I couldn't believe it....Rothko painted here,
agonized over his work here - maybe even
contemplated suicide here.