On a nuclear knife’s edge — blocked up, mute like this milk-gray sky spilling into my soul — hazy malaise, gray. the gray of newspapers, cold-war gray, a misty moral grayness, lost in the war fog beyond black and white. powerless in the face of this dangerous game between Russia and Ukraine, and the spectacular shelling hitting Zaporizhzhia nuclear power…

Transplanted roots — was it lightning striking or an errant root trying to find food or ground? were we looking up in a clear open sky or were we ignorant fish swimming in a small glass bowl we could not discern the limits of? roots, roots distraught, languishing, uprooted, transplanted into a cold…

Con games and defense mechanisms — You’re at it again. Presenting one face — the mask of a martyr, the voice of a victim, like a Christ-complex gone wrong; only imagine Jesus with a butcher’s knife carving up his victims with nothing but mercy all over his face. When I hear the word forgiveness on your lips, I…

For Medium writers who can’t afford real therapy — As I was tallying up my August Medium earnings in my head and was in the middle of trying to figure out what $3.69 plus $1.98 …

Because there is so much to talk about — Let’s talk about money. We all need it. We all don’t make enough of it. While inflation is still rising, Medium wages have remained stubbornly stagnant. If you are among the hard working and fortunate and publish every day, you might be pulling in $25 — $35 dollars per month. …

Who’s more dangerous, Pelosi or Trump? — Dancing Nancy flips one finger to One China — Taiwan holds its breath while her other half gets caught drunk driving in wine country.

The winter that is coming — Spring breaks like Monday morning — resistant bud shut tight like a fist. light too bright, pollen, promise, illusion. I’ve never been a morning person and I see every Monday as Sunday’s untimely assassin. Can I not sleep in? I had the same thought when I was born, as I was three…

Uneven scales — Exile all over again Scar, split — dissociated. There was no rebuilding the Temple this time around. You were a pissed off god a real Shiva — Dio irato. Flowers in one hand, bloody knife in the other. You never did get that balance of justice and mercy right. Terrified…

Poem on parenting — The moon was large and clouds were moving fast. You came out all wrong. Wrong size, wrong speed, too loud, not loud enough. Are you sure you are mine? Name one thing we have in common. You are slow to potty train. I sit you down on the pot, but you push…