Cook’s Directions


What Einstein told his cook,
The Hobbit,
Enough Humiliation,
Madness, Rack, and Honey,
for one more day,
Eat Dessert First!



Like a drop of the blackest ink in a vase of water

Slowly infecting the purity

Your words infect me.

The doubt spreading and suffocating

Until the clarity that once was is no longer

Until I am blind



A living death

The doubt spreading and suffocating

Until I can’t move unless you direct me

Until I am useless

Putty in your hands

A ghost of what I used to be.

Mirror Moon

La Luna

The moon is shining, full and bright, trapped in the frame of the window, light spilling on the bare stairs. Black wood around the mirror’s reflective surface, hidden in the darkness of night, nailed to the wall. The reflected silhouettes of bookshelves can be seen through the mirror. It’s almost as if you could reach through the reflection and pick a nameless book and leaf though the black pages. Illusions, to reach towards the mirror, fingers outstretched and expectant would touch the cold surface of glass, leaving greasy fingerprints. Clouds enter the canvas of infinite black sky, making the moon disappear. You realize that in reaching towards the mirror you are really reaching for yourself, to know that you are real, not just a black mass amongst the black shapes behind you.