A portfolio of work
Chapter 1. Haunted. My childhood bedroom was on the second story of the house which now belongs to my mother. The room was against the outer wall so that the slope of the roof was that of the ceiling of my bedroom. In winter, it was always the coldest room in the house. I used … Continue reading Spirit Reports Chapter 1: Haunted
In the morning, in Prozac dreams, I have known myself to go to war. The fields of battle used to move and speak to me. I knew them as my friends from when I was younger than I am now. At the end of our time together, few of them ever said goodbye. I … Continue reading Great Camp Sagamore, and my Great War
In my last days as a student in Dublin Ireland, I took the early morning train to the city of Belfast. Though I was curious about the site of the tumultuous Troubles, and to see how a quarter of a country functions under a separate government, I will admit I made the trip because of … Continue reading H & W Yard Numbers 400 and 401
The ancient Soviet pipes in my friend’s apartment Left the water tasting Strongly of Iron Which came from the kitchen sink. Žižkov Television Tower stands Alien in the sky Over the Jewish quarter, And the medieval city. I peer through grates at the cluttered old cemetery. I got here on a night … Continue reading The Hunger Wall
Somewhere, you're playing board games on the coffee table with the dual innocence where we once were as children, but now we're soiled skin. There’s too much baggage in me and my brother's bedrooms. So you start anew at six and seven years old. These are the benefits of skipping the younger years. While you're at it, … Continue reading I Waterlogged the Electric Kettle
Take to your holds, your windswept hovels and your ships quarters. Below deck, down the old oak folding ladder with speed, and nearly run right into the center table where we ate dinner, built by my grandfather, suspended on a clever balance, like the stove, and the lanterns dry of oil. Take to your headaches … Continue reading Arthur Kill Ship Graveyard
I saw a photo of you in an ocean-going canoe. Not one designed for it, instead, it was the old beat up one that you and your sisters keep among the brush and the sand dunes. The one meant for a New Hampshire pond, made of cherished and dented aluminum. I saw you among the … Continue reading The Summer Triangle and a Land of Abandoned Lake Houses
