Philando. George. And Now

We all feel closer to Philando than we

otherwise would, and George, having 

been present at such a pivotal moment

in the life of each, privy to the intimacy

of death.

If we are lucky, we are still permeable

by horror, our skins not so thick that

we easily forget or discount. We resume

our lives because we must, their names

pressing on us like wounds. We saw 

injustice with our own eyes.  We are

accountable for this terrible knowledge.

- excerpt of journaled poem from 7/6/2020


  • Getting close to complet-ion of my first EP of original songs (!)

  • We are both working full-time from home


Where a Face Should Be


Flat canvases of masks let us fill in the

blanks, fiction never as strange as truth; 

we humans want the full monty of expression.

Some went so far as to say since humans bear the image of God, it's a sin to cover our faces with masks. God knows where these theologians were last winter, protesting scarves and balaclavas.

Only a baby thinks a face gone for good when it is covered. We have learned to walk in the dark, in the

memory of smiles.

- excerpt of journaled poem 5/7/2020

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