On the fragility of mind and purpose circa..2004/2005 from Lexington, SC On withering frames of mind and flesh, we toil—in subconscious slumber— disappearing into the realm of nebulous menaces. Wearing fake facades over faces of fear, and meddling in the manifestos of men, and harboring festering hearts, feckless, impersonating the personal, and likening self to all. But victories come in scraps of moments, seen only through magnifying glasses of piercing focus. Where moment is, and forgiv...

From the Melcher Way collection A recollection from my youth, circa 1986 That day, in the evening, in the tiny living room— nicotine-stained walls, couches with the wooden armrests, The ambulance people stormed in— they took my mother by force. The ghosts of her imagination stood idly by. Onto the stretcher, into the straps, out the front door, into the back of the van— off she went, The remaining unopened cans of beer, the jug of homemade wine on the floor in the kitchen, next to the trash ...

A memory from 2020. Was I the only one—I thought— to have seen you, to have appreciated you, that day, moving north? Mind dragged way behind—you know— the view of my gaze was not able to testify, was not able to stop. I swear there was nowhere to stop, to pull over, to wait for mind to catch up, to tell that guy in the orange vest facing east to turn around, to see—dammit. If mind was there, it would have found a way to stop— the courage to stop, to look at you, to acknowledge how you had e...