In My Broken Chair

In My Broken Chair, a short story, is now available as an eBook.

- Apple iPhone/iPad/iPod Touch, click here
- Amazon Kindle, click here
- Barnes & Noble NOOK, click here

In life, Emmett was a practical joker. In death, a final taunt sends his regimented son and colorful companion on a surreal hunt for a series of clues that reveal his will.


Distance travels with weather
patterns defined by the warmth
of your breath against my neck,
shoulder. To reach you, I turn

or remember how to dance,
spinning like nothing else is
world, as round as this ring
or as whole as us. I know,

your contentment is my canopy,
unfurling in evergreen sails and
we drift like vivid ships cupped
on puddles of gasoline rainbows.

Our language is invented as
footsteps press fallen colors
to pulp and imagine, this path
will become paper — a clean

sheet clipped to a line, rolling in
waves against an autumn blue sky.

Guardian Unlimited poetry workshop shortlist »

How To Craft A Cello From Parts You Have

Within the confines of a solitary place, sit upright in a wooden chair.
Wait patiently while your hair grows to reach the ground.

Imagine the sound of spaciousness.

From just above your nape, twist a lock to a finger’s-width.
Snip it off and neatly set aside.

Drape what remains over your right shoulder.
Gather six strands at a time and braid into innumerable threads.

Imagine paper lanterns rising in a night sky.

Place feet flat on the floor with legs crossed at ankles.
Your left foot shall precede the right.

Divide your braids into five even segments.
Loop one length around each toe and knot.

Imagine what you most long for.

Straighten your spine at a forty-five degree angle to thighs.
Tightly draw the loose lock between your hands to form a bow.

Tilt chin to left shoulder and open mouth.
While running the bow across strings, softly exhale
and grasp loneliness.

Guardian Unlimited poetry workshop shortlist »

Mabel’s Gate

Mabel’s gate is kept unlocked and here
We gather, winged and cooing like
Pigeons housed in lofty pinion roosts.

Daybreak is easy. The cottonwoods feel
Shock of color. They come into being
Outside painted windows look toward
The West once wild now sacred, fading.

Desert night is still. Bedded in
Adobe walls, sweet spirits circle heat
Of kiva while tequila stories spin
Drunken sisters laughing at their feet.