Baseball Diamond

Outside sleeps the city. Inside does not sleep the writer, dreaming up extravagant phrases that mean little to nothing. The writer has a face divided by lines and creases and he frowns more than he used to, if you had known him then. He at least calls himself a writer now. That took a lot … Continue reading Baseball Diamond


At the stroke of seven twenty-six, I can see the dark blue evening outside my window and I get an overwhelming sense of loneliness, of fear, and I wait for a knock at my door that I wish I could be excited for, but instead fills me with expectations of failure and insecurity.  Shit, the … Continue reading VII