After The Rumpus….

There is a distinct before I published in The Rumpus and a distinct after.  What a wonderful little creative world changer!  Since it’s publication last week I’ve received so many emails, notes, messages on my various sites about how important the story was to the readers.  I have received so many personal stories about others experiences as a Deadhead and I have also received just simple, powerful – “I love you”s – it’s overwhelming and beautiful and I can’t thank everyone enough for the support & sharing.

What a short strange trip its been 🙂


Sunrise For Jack Kerouac


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A poem for a poem I gave Jake the last inhale Watching the a willow tree in a cow pasture turn to gold in the Acidic sunrise of a July we tried for years to forget. The long streams of branch swaying in a breeze that bumped my gooses From collar bone to sternum Raised buttons of oooooh, of ahhhhh, Of push them, push them - - we will never get out of here if we don't move faster Before I fall apart Jake falls asleep against the wind Shielded dreaming of a riddle on a Popsicle stick His tiny fingers clutching it Jamming it into his mother’s wringing hands Asking her to just tell him what it means that he can longer read French (as I flip the tent stake Mallet around and around, leav ing bruises in the ground, wondering if it is God or my child I…

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Super Happy 24 Hours

Publishing two days in row calls for a post.  I know, I know, I’m terrible at keeping up.  But I’m busy writing other things – and submitting – and getting through grad school – and raising an 8 year old – and trying to not sleep as much as possible – and add a few hundred more things.

Just popping in to say so excited for the last day and spread the love for the two wonderful places I have been accepted in!

Happy Birthday Allen

Cool black night thru redwoods
cars parked outside in shade
behind the gate, stars dim above
the ravine, a fire burning by the side
porch and a few tired souls hunched over
in black leather jackets. In the huge
wooden house, a yellow chandelier
at 3 A.M. the blast of loudspeakers
hi-fi Rolling Stones Ray Charles Beatles
Jumping Joe Jackson and twenty youths
dancing to the vibration thru the floor,
a little weed in the bathroom, girls in scarlet
tights, one muscular smooth skinned man
sweating dancing for hours, beer cans
bent littering the yard, a hanged man
sculpture dangling from a high creek branch,
children sleeping softly in their bedroom bunks.
And 4 police cars parked outside the painted
gate, red lights revolving in the leaves.

– ginsberg