What have you been up to since we saw you last?
Mayhem, chaos and creation…in that order. I’ve been recovering from a nasty shoulder injury (rotator cuff tear) and writing as much as I can.
I really enjoyed your interviews at The Examiner ((did I remember right?). What happened to those & will you be resuming them? Actually I gave the Examiner column up because of my shoulder injury/surgery…I just couldnt write and they need a certain amount of columns per month and I was out of commission for three months, so…bye bye. I’ve been thinking about picking it up again but in the end everything not writing or contributing to my passion for fiction is a distraction and I have enough of those already…
What’s your latest & greatest? My werewolf novella, Lily has been reissued with a fresh coat of paint and some extended scenes and I couldn’t be happier or more grateful to Seventh Window Publications for bringing Lily back. It’s even better that I remember.
What’s coming up for you in the near future? Latest WIP & can you share any details? It’s funny, I’m shocked at how much I actually wrote during my year of shoulder drama. I have three anthologies coming out each with a new story by me, and also the first in an epic dark fantasy/horror novel coming out in August…fingers crossed…or early fall (realistic) The anthologies include an erotic bear horror story, an Upstairs Downstairs themed erotic story, and a short story to be included in a best of Gay Erotica anthology.
Velvet is set against a backdrop of decadence, privilege, and intrigue. Virago, the royal tailor, makes a discovery that will test the bonds of brotherhood, unravel the forbidden secrets of his heart and threaten the very fabric of his existence.
In a land where cruelty is disguised as allegiance, loyalty is masked by obligation and the laws of sumptuary govern the people, nothing is more dangerous than Velvet.
A royal tailor, interesting, this is different from your prior books.
What prompted the departure?
The story of Velvet took me by surprise. I was browsing through a magazine when I saw a picture of a velvet shoe. The next thing I knew these characters leapt up and insisted I tell their story, so I did.
This “land” is it real or imaginary?
Totally imaginary. I’m not clever enough to write anything truly historical, although Velvet is based on historical ideas.
Which of your books was the hardest for you to write?
They all challenge me. Velvet was difficult in that I tried to delve into research about Elizabethan, Shakespearean and 15th century customs, coronations and speech.
I enjoyed The Birches, but I think this may have been because The Incident was dark and heavy.
Are any of your works autobiographical, even partially?
I think I exist in all my stories, though how and where, I don’t know. The Incident is my most autobiographical, and I found so much joy in sharing certain aspects of my hometown in that story.
What have you accomplished lately that still gives you that “Yes, I did it!” warm glow?
Every time I publish an article, column or story I get that feeling. Creativity is so often unappreciated and I celebrate anytime anyone is brave enough to share their work.
Anything you’re itching to do that you haven’t yet?
Many things are on my horizon and I intend to keep moving towards those things. You’ll have to tune and see what’s next!
You’ve been a busy fella. Can you share what you’ve been up to since you visited last?
Trouble, anarchy, and villainy. Wait is that what I’ve been up to or the title of my autobiography? I’ve just been writing, writing and oh yeah, writing!
Willing to bet that suits you to a tee.. What about your erotic collection, MENAGE? Menage is a print collection featuring three of my novellas with Seventh Window Publishing; Dutch’s Boy, The Incident and The Birches. There are three new covers and other new stuff! Here’s a link to the press release and where to buy:
You have a paranormal out now, Earthly Concerns, do tell…
Earthly Concerns is my latest novella and I am calling it an erotic nightmare with fable elements. Wow, even I’m intrigued by that! It’s all about the choices we make and the consequences of those choices, and it’s a little creepy. It really is a story about the power of generosity, generosity of spirit and the price of selfishness. While there is an erotic romance involved, there are forces at work in the story that scare me and hopefully will frighten readers too.
That is intriguing..More info at the end. Was it hard to transition to the paranormal?
No! I actually have always been a magical realism kind of writer, it was harder to transition into erotica!
Have you always wanted to write in the paranormal genre? Thinking about Urban Fantasy now maybe? Possibly horror?
I love horror; but creepy horror. My favorite horror book and movie is The Other by Thomas Tryon. My goal is to write something that spooky. My next piece is completely different, I’m going in a direction no one will see coming. Keep your peepers peeped!
I will! Can’t wait to see what you get up to next, fella. Are you still cooking up a storm? Always seeing the yummy looking pictures you post.
I actually have a massive pot of Irish beef stew on the stove as I’m writing this, my place smells ahhmazing! So yes I am cooking up a storm, when are you coming over for dinner?
The next time I’m on the left coast I’ll be taking you up on that invite! You’ve been having quite the time at your column with guests ranging from Pia Zadora to Emilie Autumn. How much fun have you been having with that? Any interesting tidbits you can share comfortably?
My column has been an adventure. The funny thing about it is I never get the people I think I’m going to, but always get the guests I’m sure I won’t. It’s a bizarre and wonderful experience. As for tidbits? Hmm, I print everything they say, so what you see is what you get. I’m also not an exploitive type of reporter, there’s enough of that without me stirring the pot.
Aint that the truth…I was thinking more along the lines of, “she sounds like a lil girl over the phone.” kinda thing. What’s next for you, Xavier? Anything special you’d like us to know?
I’m working on a new piece now that started as a novella but is turning into a novel. I’m a little nervous as it seems to have a life of its own, but I am in love with it! I have a non erotic zombie short story out and a short erotic story awaiting its fate and a full length novel on its second submission. Fingers and legs crossed.
If you could choose a song or album to currently describe your life, what would it be?
Plan 9 by The Misfits or Live Through This by Hole.
Thanks for coming back to Manic Readers, Xavier. Always enjoy your visits. 🙂
Always a pleasure to be on Manic Readers! Thank you!
It was a peaceful night when Barrett and his daughter were driving home… then something happened. Something sinister.
Between shadow and light, there is uncertainty…
Now the only person Barrett can turn to for help is Anson, a man gifted with psychic abilities beyond reason. But Anson is also his ex-boyfriend, a man whose heart he’d already broken.
If you can see, you have to help.
As Anson delves deeper into the circumstances surrounding Barrett’s accident, he begins to realize that he’s not only in a race against time, but in a battle against his own broken heart and the terrifying understanding that whatever has taken Barrett’s child is a force of evil beyond anything either man has ever encountered.
And between decision and consequences, there are… Earthly Concerns
How could I just go over, and if I did, would I just be stumbling back into the pit of snakes I had just narrowly escaped the first time? I thought this and a hundred other dangerous thoughts until I saw him begin to stand up. I waved him down, then went over and sat down.
Apparently, I thought the best course of action was to dive right in, avoid any further uncomfortable thoughts from belching up from the cesspool that I was creating in my skull.
“Tell me everything,” I blurted, trying to avoid looking into his eyes.
“You look good, all hot and cute,” he said, trying to maintain his smile, but the weight of his sadness was too intense. Instead, he managed a pained grimace.
“Thanks.” I wanted to say more, return the compliment, but found I couldn’t; he was a keen listener and would be able to detect any false sentiment I might throw out. I stared down at the menu and tried to ignore my heart, which had once again taken up its incessant thrumming.
“Thanks for coming,” he said.
I didn’t look up, but could feel him staring at me.
When the waitress came over, we ordered. Without the menu to stare at, I looked up and past him.
“Anson.” He said my name like it was some sort of invocation.
Did he believe he was dreaming? I could only imagine the nightmare of not knowing where your child is and if she would ever come back.
“Tell me everything,” I repeated, my voice steady. I lowered my eyes and faced him; and seeing his sadness, I swallowed hard.
“It’s unreal,” he said, this time looking away from me, his eyes glistening. “I’m not sure I know what’s happened.”
The waitress arrived with two small cups of clear broth with some vegetables in them and refilled our waters.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my eyes riveted on him. I couldn’t believe I was sitting across from him in the same place I had met him once before; the day he wanted to return a t-shirt I had left at his place after one of our interludes.
Even now, looking beaten and tormented, the man somehow managed to provoke me in ways other men hadn’t. I saw him as beautiful and felt my stomach lurch. I looked at his brown eyes that I remembered looking gold in the sun, and his oddly handsome face. Not a traditionally good looking face, but handsome in a bookish, learned way. I felt my body begin to respond.
Thanks so much for visiting today Xavier. You’ve blogged with us before but this is our first chat. I know you’re quite the busy fella too with your column, writing etc…
Please tell us a bit about yourself. From what I’ve read you’ve led/lead a pretty interesting life in various places.
It’s funny, I’ve been looking back on my life lately because of my 35th birthday coming up but also because of surgeries I’ve faced this month and all I can say is yes I have lived an interesting life. I’ve always done what I’ve wanted to do with little fear of what people think. I remember making a promise to myself back when I was a kid swearing I would not be someone who turned 40 and looked back and thought, gee, if only I’d done this or that. So, I did this and that and am happy with the outcome. My career path has definitely been unconventional and has afforded me the opportunity to meet and interact with all kinds of people. Granted, I don’t have the picket fence, the 401 k plan or stock options but the trade off has been worth it.
A bit about your latest release?
My latest release is The Birches coming out this month with Seventh Window Publications. Here’s the blurb:
Perfection isn’t everything, although it’s everything Leo wants. His desire to become the perfect chef may keep him at the top of his class, but it drives his friends and family crazy while keeping love and passion on the back burner. That is until he meets Dock, owner and chef of the new and popular restaurant, The Birches. Although Dock isn’t a trained chef, Leo finds the food he cooks delectable and the man behind the food irresistible. The lessons taught at the hands of an untrained cook may be just what this uptight chef needs to let go.
My first published piece was Serpentigna a re-imagining of the Medusa Myth. Last December Silver Publishing released Christmas Eve at the Powers That Be Café, my 1940’s erotic romance, followed by A Valentine for Evrain, also with Silver Publishing. Dutch’s Boy, a cowboy M/M romance was next and published with Seventh Window Publications. The Incident, just came out in August, is a dark, cop romance, and is available at Seventh Window Publications.
Ever considered writing a cooking or recipe book?
I would love to write a cookbook, I love food and cooking. My last two books include a recipe. Looking back on the last year, I realized food is featured in each story! Maybe that’s my unconscious trying to get me to put together a cookbook.
What’s your favorite part of writing?
I love the lessons I learn as a writer from each piece I create. Each story has a lesson in it. I learn more and more what it means to be a writer in the world and like school; some lessons are harder to learn than others.
Writing is exhausting. It really is a demanding pursuit. It is spiritually, psychically, mentally and physically draining, at least for me. I am invested in my writing and have to put my all into it, to feel like I’ve been true and authentic to the story and my characters.
Is there anything you require to coax your muse?
Solitude and attention; my muse is difficult and demanding. There is no fence sitting allowed when it comes to my muse. In for a penny in for a pound would be the saying on the t-shirt my muse wears.
With all your degrees have you ever considered another career or are you right where you want to be?
I’m right where I want to be. I wanted a literary life and I think I am always working towards that aspiration. My education has been a highlight to my foundation as a writer.
I read that most m/m fiction is written by women and mostly read by women? Do you think this is true & what is your opinion of it?
Yes, I believe it to be true. I think it’s great and also intriguing. I think women have the advantage of knowing what other women want to read about Gay relationships/sex.
Do you really live with a small menagerie? Bit about your critters?
I do! My place is a zoo. I have 5 black cats, a white rabbit and a curious amount of raccoons and the odd skunk. They all live outside, except the rabbit. I’ve had pigs, fish, skunks and possums; so yes, it is a menagerie.
Do you have a favorite historical character?
Favorite book as a child?
A Streetcar Named Desire
The House of the Spirits
Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover
Now for the question you wanted the most….
How the devil do you support yourself writing gay erotica?
The devil would know. I’m still trying to figure it out.
Xavier, thanks for being with Manic Readers today. You’re quite the mess & I mean that in the Southern sense of the word….:)
I’ve decided not to age past 35. This will be the last year I acknowledge age as a physical construct. From here on out it is a myth, a generalization, a conclusion drawn and believed by other people. It’s not that I’m afraid of ageing. I just decided age stopped mattering. If people can say that gender is an illusion and sexuality is an illusion, then certainly I am justified in saying age is also an illusion. Maybe allusion would be a better word.
Yes, I am growing one year older. This blog will be posted on said Birthday. I am a birthday whore. Let me explain. Ever since I can remember, I celebrated the entire month of October. I don’t know when this started but I’m pretty sure my mother is the culprit. If she’s not it’s fun to blame her anyway. I set rules around the month. First off, No one is allowed to irritate me. Said irritation can be stupid words spoken, irritating things done, drama delivered to my Birthday doorstep.
See how fun this is.
It’s amazing when you set up parameters how willing most people are to stay within the rules. So when a friend or family member starts up with something irritating I look at them ever so gently and say, “It’s my birthday month. Save it for November 1st.”
I also make it a point to do a little something for myself everyday of the month. This may be taking an entire day and do absolutely nothing but lie in bed and read. I always buy myself a new hardcover book on my birthday. I read once that the most important day in a Satanist’s life is his/her own birthday. I remember standing in the middle of Barnes and Noble where I read this and thinking, “am I a closet Satanist?”
One of my favorite birthday month memories happened back in High School. I have a wonderful friend who took my birthday month celebration to new heights one year. One day she decorated the entire hallway where my locker lived, the next she decorated my locker and filled it with gifts. She then proceeded to bake me little delicious tidbits the entire week of my birthday. These ranged from something called “Maryannes” to a huge birthday cake presented to me in the cafeteria in the shape of a pumpkin. I also remember cherry cobbler. Another friend made little cards that announced my birthday and handed them to people in the halls.
I was a guidance office aide (I was an early grad and had to do this task to get the hell out of high school) and on my birthday a huge pile of gifts was delivered to the guidance office where I sat innocently pretending to file college brochures. All I remember is a Playgirl Calendar being among the gifts and that causing quite the stir.
I should state here and now none of these things were commissioned by the birthday boy. I was oblivious to everything, oblivion being a close personal friend of mine.
I’ve had many wonderful birthday celebrations. Elaborate, quiet, fun, glittering, over the top and subdued, always wonderful and filled with great people and most importantly amazing food. On a more recent birthday while I was working as an event coordinator at a fancy Beverly Hills catering company I remember sitting in my office and upon hearing a flurry of “oohs” and “ahhs” coming from the entryway went to see what the commotion was about. I was rewarded with one of the biggest flower arrangements I’ve ever seen. There were dark purple roses, chocolate cosmos, blood red roses, chili peppers, and any number of other black, red, and orange flowers. In the vase pomegranates floated benignly. Attached to this amazing arrangement were a mass of balloons. The most important part of the arrangement was the man I loved carrying the vase and smiling shyly from behind the tangle of black roses.
The women I worked with were in shock and must have asked me a million times if he had a brother, hell, did he have a sister, I could hook them up with.
Alas, here I am on the verge of 35. I look back fondly at all my birthday celebrations and thank you for looking back with me. As I write this blog, I realized the reason behind my month long celebration of my birth. It’s not for the presents, the treats, or the indulgence, it’s to celebrate life. Something we should all do everyday and not just one day once a year. I like taking care of myself and taking care of oneself is really about taking time for oneself and spending that time generously and lavishly. Granted, we can’t do this everyday but why not hold onto the idea of everyday being a little mini birthday. After all, it’s someone’s birthday somewhere and life is worth celebrating, every day.
I believe in the power of the sensual world. My name is Xavier and I am sensualist. I have written extensively now on the power of the six senses and the journey has been enlightening, tantalizing, and even a little scary. I was thinking about what I would write this week about the senses. I looked around and took a minute or two to use my senses and feel exactly what it was that was happening around me, and what’d ya know? The miserable, cold, gloomy weather that is plaguing me in California inspired me to write about a snowy winter memory I have about my time as a kid growing up in the snowdrifts of the East Coast. Don’t you love how the senses can bring such vivid memories back to us?
The cathedral bell was broken. It was rumored that some kids broke in and did something heinous to it. What Heinous act could be perpetrated on a bell was anyone’s guess but to be honest we were all happy it stopped ringing. It was snowing; great big, cotton flakes, the kind you could actually catch on your tongue. In the absence of the bell, other sounds got in under the blanket of the falling snow. Like the tractors, their engines pleading against the cold air as if they were husbands pleading angrily against their chilly wives. Oh, and the aroma of childhood. The grandmothers made almond cookies and the smell of them was seductive, almost being almost too wonderful to experience in a snow flurry. Smells of wood stoves, my grandfather always had the one in the barn going; it smelled sharp and strong in the cold, almond dusted air.
There would be no school, no projectors displaying long division or conjunctives. It would be a day of magic, of things buried in white drifts and the crunch of ice under boots…the cold air made everything sound more important than it really was. Your words urgent, romantic because you could see them in your breath as you uttered something to someone: a plan, a wish, a way to make the day pass.
Oh by the way…did you hear? I have two new books coming out: “Lily” with Silver Publishing and “The Good Cop” with Seventh Window Publications. Feel free to also stop by my examiner.com column and say hello…or send me a recipe or cookies… or come by my website!
Do you believe in ghosts? I do. The 6th sense is probably the most; no, I’m sure it is indeed the most elusive of all our senses. Yet, can anyone really deny that it exists? I believe it is a combination of instinct, intuition and maybe a little psychic-ness all mixed into one. I could recount numerous stories about my experiences with psychic phenomenon but then I would probably be committed. Perhaps this wouldn’t be a bad thing…I could write all day, not work…stare out windows while mumbling to myself…Wait let’s get back on track a second. I will share one experience, possibly the most frightening of all the experiences I have had with the unknown.
I was about 10 years old, maybe 11; all I know is that it was when I was in 5th grade. So how old are kids around then? I think 10…anyway; I came home after school with a couple of friends. Both my parents worked at this point so I was kind of on my own for a couple of hours. Don’t worry, my Grandmother was next door and we were surrounded by neighbors who watched out for everyone else’s kids like hawks. One neighbor, an elderly woman had a spare key to our house, I can’t tell you how many times that key saved my rear end, but I digress.
So there we were my three friends and me. There was a sister with her younger brother and then another girl. Let’s call them Sam, Cam and Pam shall we? Makes it more amusing…and protects the innocent. So naturally, being kids we soon found ourselves up to mischief and this included me pulling out the Ouija board. I should preface this by saying I had a very active imagination and always thought I was psychic from a very early age and begged and begged my parents for a Ouija board and against my mother’s direct orders, my father of course gave in and got me one. I think it was Pam who suggested we shut the lights off and close all the blinds. It was late afternoon so it was still bright enough in the house for us to see what we were doing…there may have been candles lit. My goodness…reading this makes it sound like it was Lord Of The Flies up in that house…really it was all perfectly innocent…at least we thought so until Sam and I got on the board together.
Have you ever played Ouija? You know how this goes right. You put your fingertips on the pointer and begin asking the board questions like “Who’s on the board?” “What’s your name?” “Who am I going to marry?” “Am I going to pass the spelling test on Friday?” You get it…
So we began playing and at first all was well, fun, and a little creepy but we were all laughing and being silly about it but then something happened…cue the scary music. I should tell you I have goosebumbs as I’m writing this.
That pointer began jerking back and forth across the board so violently that neither Sam nor I could keep our fingers on the pointer…I know all you skeptics are like, “yeah right,” well read on friends. We were totally freaking out but me having some psychic prowess (yeah right) thought now would be about the time to ask who was on the board.
Quetsion: “Who’s on the board?”
Question: “Can you show us a sign that you’re here?” (Again me trying to be clever)
Answer: The phone rings. (Now I swear on my Grandmother’s peanut butter cookie recipe that this is true)
I answered that phone and when I asked who it was they replied, “Ellie,” I hung the phone up and I think I may have started crying. I don’t know when we all started crying but believe me tears were flowing at some point.
But did it stop there? Oh no…because why would crying 10 or 11 year olds stop…I think we were too scared to move away from the board…but I did ask it to show us another sign that it was there and again the phone rang but this time when I answered there was just nothing…
Now I feel that I should cut the story here…there were many other revelations on the board that day that were equally terrifying and actually a little too graphic to put into words for this blog but I will say that when my mother showed up she was not happy. We were all kicked outside and I think I remember begging her not to throw the board out because it had to be thrown into running water…blah blah blah…
My mother being of sound mind (kind of) looked at me and said, “Could you please stop with this board? This is why I didn’t want this in the house; if any spirits feel the need to come after you, send them my way.” With that, the board went into the huge brown trashcans in our garage.
The following week I served as altar boy at my baby cousins christening…and if you think, I did not ask the priest for a blessing of protection…you’re wrong.
I was a dramatic kid. I never touched a Ouija Board again…Ok well one more time…but years later in 7th Grade and you know what when I asked who was on the board the same name came up and you better believe I pulled my hands off that pointer so fast I made my own head spin.
I told a psychic this story and she said to me, “playing with a Ouija Board is like walking up to an apartment in New York City and knocking on the door, you have no idea who is going to answer…”
Ewww…I’m getting scared so I’ll stop here and say this, follow your instincts, don’t play with Ouija Boards…and always make sure you have an amazing peanut butter cookie recipe to stake your reputation on.
Hey, did you hear? I have two new novellas coming out soon….One is called “Lily” with Silver Publishing and The Good Cop with Seventh Window Publications coming soon. Keep up with all my other demons, ghosts, and foodies at www.xavieraxelson.com
I hope that you have come back for “more” …I am continuing my exploration of the senses here at Manic Readers and am having so much fun and hope you are too!
Sight to me is not only a physical ability but also a psychological one. We judge with sight, interpret with sight and often save ourselves from physical pain with sight but what I love most about the sense of sight is that I get to see COLOR!
Let’s talk color shall we? I am a color lover. I once worked for a couple who told me I was to wear only dark colors as they were incredibly chic and well known for being stylish. When I told the woman I lived with at the time she looked at me and said, “but darling you LOVE color, how will that work?”
I knew I would eventually turn them and so I did. At first I cut my crazy devil-lock hair and proceeded to wear the navy blues, somber grays, and jet blacks of someone who has either just left a funeral or who is stomping the cross walks of Beverly Hills…which was where I worked. Beverly Hills was slightly terrifying to me before I worked there but once you get the hang of it, it’s quite like entering a huge party every time you step onto the street. Do you remember when Scarlett was thrust into the party wearing that burgundy gown? Well that is exactly the image I would conjure when running around from this boutique to the next. At first it was startling but once you realize it’s you or them you pound out the anxiety and turn it into confidence, it’s what Scarlett would have wanted.
As time went on and I became more confident in not only my job but my surroundings I began to incorporate more and more of my own personal style (which included color) into my appearance and no one said a word. Now mind you I love black, gray as much as the next person (I detest Navy) so don’t think I didn’t wear giant transparent-gray sunglasses featuring some Sanrio character all over them, or didn’t don towering black platforms that made me about 6’7 because I did. Funny thing about those glasses…every time I wore them people stopped me and asked about them, EVERYTIME! The vintage 1940’s pair that cost an arm and a leg…not a scant comment! The Sanrio ones cost $2.00, (this is the Murphy’s Law of fashion). But, I digress…
I wrote the following journal entry while working for the above-mentioned couple and will wrap my two day ramblings here with said entry:
I was feeling particularly color starved when I wrote this…and what better way to chase away the drabs but with yellow?
Beyond the yellow door…the violence of yellow, amarillo…the color of sun, of Post-Its
Yellow can be loud like the sound of honeybees buzzing the clover for food, for nectar, for a chance to take part in beauty.
To stay gold, all that glitters, all that shines and threatens you to be more than a hard place to land your phoenix. Of the inferno, the yellow and gold heat of burning. A Mayan coin buried deep in the Earth; uncovered and discovered because it sparkles gold and yellow.
Silver and…the counterpart that always gets the man, the choice cut, the precious, the desired. Illuminating without shame or remorse. The way a man touches his face—without gold.
I am featuring the 5 senses (and maybe even the elusive 6th sense) this month on my examiner.com column and I am thrilled and hope my readers will be too by what and who I have uncovered to discuss each of these gifts that many of us take for granted. In honor of the senses, I offer you a glimpse into my journals where I often find myself writing nonsense about things that thrill me to the point where I have to write them down or burst.
I am often tricked by tastes, smells, sights and sounds…I am a fool for the sensual world and I hope you allow yourself to be fooled occasionally and find yourself in settings that make your senses reel…I hope you enjoy it…and I hope you taste, touch, smell, hear and see everything with passion!
I wrote this in honor of not the color, but the word, the way it sounds when I hear it.
The word has a full body, a sumptuous roll against the tongue…against the cold of a December night, against the side of a red wine goblet.
It can taste heady and ripe with the dark passage of time that reminds one of a long journey one has made but forgotten.
It seems to me the “Burgundy” of life is like the crisp sound an apple makes when you pierce its skin and it surprises you with its tart juices. It shocks you to life, to that moment. Living in that moment or the “Burgundy” of it; grabbing that moment.
It makes you want to wear the ostrich feathers and be the one that makes people sing.
“Morning Rain” 3/25
One morning at work my eyes were dazzled by the wet transformation of the world.
As it is, its raining—to pour on the eves of old roofs—made new by the young, the trendy, the chic.
To cleanse and to close your eyes and rinse all of it down the drain.To unplug and remove the organic carrot tops from the sink—flushing it out, the excess, the Yin and Yang of it all.
I see it all; the overstuffed arc moving towards an unseen but known land packed like and old umbrella stuffed in its sleeve…for days like these. I close my eyes and see, feel, touch and smell the rain.