I would demonstrate

that I’m thankful

to be with you,

but I cannot be “with” you;

we are one —

I am you,

and you are me.

Firestone Friday: Poem XVI

We’re all full of holes,

trying, desperately, to become wholes —

swelling, inserting, filling ourselves

with things as dispensable as they are harmful,

and we look over our

needles, nicotine, nudity, and nights

only long enough to wage

merciless judgments against

our neighbor’s holes-filler.

Strong Language by Logan Gorg


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Art for Art’s Sake?

“I only love

creating and sharing art

and engaging

with other artists,”

I tell myself,

as I check

my stats page again.


(Does anyone else struggle with the balance of ambition and doing art for art’s sake?)

A Thing That Howls

I’ve been

known as




They would


recognize me,

now that you’ve

turned me

into a thing

that howls.

On Clinging to Life

I cling to life

with white knuckles,

because it’s the only

thing I’ve ever known.

But, is that a good reason

to cling to something,

because it’s the only thing

you’ve ever known?

Wordsmith Wednesday: Poem XVI

“What do you have to offer me?” she asked.

Nervously, I answer:

“I function within an economy

of words,

and I can offer you

a library

of books

written about the way

you look tonight.”



I’ve been a lot of things:








but, today,

I am only


to have you.


Touchstone Tuesday: Poem XI


I run my fingers through your hair,

thinking that

you press

further through me

with every stroke.

I think

I am playing with your hair,

but it is me,


who is being played with.

On Love & Mourning

I have mourned you

for as long

as I have loved you;

for, from the moment

you became my heart,

I knew that,


my chest would

never be

that full again.


(What will I do with my eyes when they can’t look at you?)


On Sacrifice

During those moments

of fleeting humanity,

I reject painful sacrifice,

but then I recall the truth:

it is my highest honor

to do something,

for my God,

that hurts.

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