Life is made from a chosen stone the same way Michelangelo’s creations were made from chosen stones. We select our endeavors and then we begin to chisel away. At different points our process stares back incomplete, forming in amniotic experience, growing by push and pull and choice and belief. When in full expression, our […]
Tag: Cottingham
I didn’t see him sitting there and neither did the dog. Usually, he’s unmistakable with his schizophrenic swagger, his hair emptied in a crop circle among a field of gray follicles. How we both missed him, how the dog failed to smell him, my amazement in how I didn’t smell him. Listen, being homeless and […]
My Master Plan For You
There’s a mama and her boy across from me; on his feet happen to be the tiniest, cutest pair of Crocs I ever did see. I stare at and study their tininess. Breaking in stare I immediately have an urge to get back on my phone, an urge that I fight […]
Ghost Me Already
On the edge of the lakeshore, there’s this stubby-legged, five, a maybe six-year-old human wearing his tiny Richard Sherman jersey about a half-foot away from this old man. The hair and thick ‘stache of this old man are both bluish white, looking on as his grandson casts his line out into frigid […]
The Hidden Castle
Imagine if you will. Just below the turret window, this window ported over our bed in what the owners refer to as the Turret Gatehouse, connected to the castle’s double arched bridge dating back to the 17th century that replaced an old drawbridge from the 13th century, and on this ‘medieval masonry,’ a male peacock […]
You get cities with aged, torn open streets. The water, the mud; settling a black reflection of faces in puddles trapped inside these cracks. Pink flower petals blown over sneakers, graffiti from the ignored seems surprisingly optimistic, sprayed over metal, sprayed over a Guy Fawkes masked hooded figure spelling, “Happy.” “Pussy […]
Another One
The warmth then. Her warm breath from silent restrained moans as she wonders if someone is listening from the other room. He intuits her modesty, her reluctance to sound the alarms, passion boiling underneath to become steam on windows, on mirrors after a hot shower. There was sweat then. He tastes it from his lips […]