A world worthy of life.

Writing through rage, grief--pushing those boulders down. A memory from the wild mind, shared through a poem from the archive.

I woke last night from a dream so real I could feel the surfaces. A boring-sounding dream: one where I was on a job interview for something that was about to change the trajectory of my life. It was all happening so quickly I couldn’t quite remember the parts of myself I was supposed to pitch—you know, the words to say to get the job. And as they moved …