My greatest hits of grievance and affront brought to you by the apartheid of the university tenure system slowly boiling me into something I barely recognized. A fuse blew. I took my pen and proofread my own name in red ink. I promised myself that I was done or done as soon as I could…
It was to be my last faculty retreat. At the time I did not know that. Nor did I know a pandemic was coming. All I knew was that the name on my place setting was wrong. I had been teaching there for fifteen years and they still misspelled my last name. God knows how…
Poems need to grow up and stand by themselves without explainings. Here’s a poem that stands alone, but maybe is better annotated, just shy of pinning it down with one meaning. Welcome to the random flow where memory is like a cotton candy machine weaving sweet spidery strands into the deep labyrinth. and here’s a…