poetry happens...

and i made some happen just recently.

a small chapbook of poetry - more for me to get a feel of the self-publishing process than to sell hundreds of copies...
poetry is a hard sell.

But - it is here, and available, and ready for readers.
The Typewriter Keeps Me Awake At Night.
you can find it on Amazon, or Createspace.

I'm hoping to create maybe two more of these little word books by the end of the year, and then compile them all next year... maybe...

depends on what's happening on the fiction side of my world -

The Jukebox will be playing soon, but until then - feel free to enjoy the typewriter.

-M

The Girl At The Bottom Of The Glass

There is a space between completion and beginning. This space overflows with work, friends, time spent living. I've never been in this place before.

The book is finished, and there is emptiness.

Focus breaks. I have fragments of what i am currently calling "Book 2". not the most original title, but for now it works. I have a growing pile of Query letters waiting for the right addressess and contacts. I have a full-time job, a wife, and 4 dogs. I have a little space where I can go and play drums, but I'm not making music, I'm just releasing some noise. Noise with a beat.

and sometimes....
sometimes there's poetry.

The girl at the bottom of the glass

Memories fade through

Like torn photographs

Edges burnt

Always in black and white

She tilts her head

Closes her eyes

Sighs

And slightly smiles

He used to be there

Solid

Now it’s like music, fading

You know the song

… there’s a ghost…

She sits like static

Between cigarette smoke

And another pint

And she breathes

Slight ache

Missing the nearness he used to bring

But the absence holds strength

Like the reflection of an empty seat

Next to her

This is not loss

This is learning

This is not failure

This is future

This is movement

The DJ moves into another

Slow sad country song

     …I fall to pieces…

And her smile fades

Like a Polaroid

left in the sun

sometimes    more light

isn’t the answer

it only makes the shadows

harder to see

and she smiles again

against candle glow

and another pint

brushing red hair    out

of her eyes

feeling like it’s a little symbolic

an annoyance gone

and it was so easy

she stands up

holding a cigarette

to her lips

and she stumbles

alcoholic

across concrete floor

until the night

finds her

moving into the future

a crumpled photograph

left on the bar

forgotten

behind her