a poem for someone far away

The Contents of this Postcard are secondhand sweaters, an apple with pepper—tongues strewn together from village to self-taught vagabond. There’s a flower shop on every corner but I never stop to buy anything— blame it on the rush or lack thereof, blame it on blood flowing to all the right places. Like god intended I …

what the mouth do: um, speak English

Long time, no speak. Really, I've been unnaturally quiet for about two weeks. If I am honest, the desire to write has not been there. But now I am posted up at my favorite cafe, Ezitis Migla (Hedgehog in the Fog), and feel capable of composing a few words for you who are listening. Also, …

threads

Each time I try to write something on here, I accidentally hit backspace and the page goes backwards, thus not saving my progress. An entire page of thoughts and observations about Latvia just go poof. Then I get frustrated and refuse to retype it all. Today, I will not make that mistake. I'm currently going …