between the shadow and the soul

I am a New England native. The hills, trees, and the red brick soiled by time and memory have called me back home from my time among the the desert mountains and neon.

Yes we can.


La maison du garde forestier - Gustav Klimt


Love this.

(via cleverlittlekitten)

A drink and a good book.

I do not get people who vote against their own self interest.

I do not get people who vote against their own self interest.

"Summer Wind" - Frank Sinatra

A slight breeze,
night’s chilled breath,
sighs through
an open window
caressing the back
of my neck.
Autumn whispering
love words
to midsummer.

by Dan Labrecque

all the hits
the longing in his voice
the words just right
at night
scotch drops at the bottom
of a well used tumbler
mind filled with
smoke of burned
the fog of nostalgia
seeping in
and the-not-to-bes
damn you

by Dan Labrecque

drunk at 3 a.m. at the bottom of my 2nd bottle
of wine, I have typed from a dozen to 15 pages of
an old man
maddened for the flesh of young girls in this
dwindling twilight
liver gone
kidneys going
pancreas pooped
top-floor blood pressure

while the fear of wasted years
laughs between my toes
no woman will live with me
no Florence Nightingale to watch
over me.

if I have a stroke I will lay here for six
days, my three cats hungrily ripping the flesh
from my legs, wrists, head

the radio playing classical music.

I promised myself never to write old man poems
but this one’s funny, you see, excusable, be-
cause there’s
still more left
here at 3 a.m. and I am going to take this sheet from
the typer
pour another glass and
insert another
make love to the fresh new whiteness

maybe get lucky

first for

for you.

by Charles Bukowski

they smile and bring the food
they smile and bow
as a light hurricane rattles the

as the scarlet ibis appears
and dances in the guano
on my plate

I’m not hungry anyhow

Leda, Tyndareus, Clytemnestra,
Castor, Pollux or anybody else
I know wouldn’t
eat this stuff.

I ask for a doggy bag.
they smile and scoop the meal
into there.

later in my kitchen I divide
the meal onto their plates
place them upon the floor

as my 3 cats remain motionless
staring up at me
as I ask them, “What’s the matter?
What’s the matter? Eat it!”

the hurricane scratches
branches against the window
as I switch out the kitchen
walk out of there and into
the other room
switch on the tv
just as a cop shoots a
man at the top of a fire escape
and he falls and falls
toppling and flattening in the

he will never have to eat
Szechwan shrimp with Chinese

by Charles Bukowski

"Destination" by Nickel Creek. I love this song.

Some ivy in Fitchburg, MA.