Prose Before Hoes

All the mom-sters tried to

lure me into their

suburban web, with

steaming lattes and

comfy pants.

Yet, they whisper,

I have the gall to

walk away. An

artistic Rumspringa,

where the stories

of my life remind

me of those languid

days we spent by

the beach, combing

my fingers in the sand,

and squinting at the sun.

The waves lapping

like our hearts beating

in the heat.

There’s just no time

for the unjust coaching

in so-and-so’s

gymnastics or how

we wish he’d pick

up his dirty socks.

I’m simply busy

bleeding those stories,


after night,

onto this page.


Socially Outlawed Pequod

Why is it that when

my friend Todd makes

educated references

about white whale

or being Captain

Ahab, he is lauded

as literary? And when

I mention Moby Dick

or “harpooning the

beast ” when I’m carousing

in the break room

or picking Sally up from

Kindergarten, it’s considered


Please, Try to Be Fucking Interesting

Be fucking interesting.

Have a story to tell

and an anecdote handy, goddamnit.

Be ready to jump into the soul

of the person across from you

and share something more

intriguing than the weather

or gossip or the latest

spirit killer from popular culture.

Read a bloody book.

Take a hike.

Commune with the ocean.

Watch the poor teenager

at the discount store roll her eyes

at her grandmother, who is trying on

all the purple dresses.

Think about how your grandmother

made you comb your cowlick

or dress for church

and then there was her famous

albondigas after.

Remember how her house smelled like

roast and White Shoulders

and how teenage missy

will wish she had those loving

arms again some day.

Try to act refreshing.

Not because you know all the cool things

or because you’re just nice,

but because you walk arm and arm

with adventure and observation.

Life is a cabaret, old chum.

Did you notice?

Would you have noticed,

if your face weren’t glued into

that personality-ruining screen?


Shut Up and Write

We all come from broken childhoods

neglected, tormented, lonely, discouraged.

We’ve all lived through certain heartbreak

tragic melancholy, hope irreparably shattered

We’ve all suffered through loss and

inundation. Life is too much, often,

and disproportionately.

Yet this doesn’t make us average,

or even mundane.

Most people find the strength in themselves to

conquer these mountains,

but we summit these experiences

and feel compelled to tell the stories

until the hurt seeps out of us

and we can write

our own new endings.