The Greek roots of the word photography translate as "writing with light." Welcome to my studio--a place to practice and illuminate good work using writing and photography.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012


I remember you, you creep! 
You were the one that hid beneath my bed,
kept me from hanging arms or legs over the side
for fear of being touched or grabbed, or worse still.
You lurked where I could see you in the shadowy corner of the living room,
shape-shifting me out of sleep.
You are the evil that brought insomnia when I was nine,
forced me to count the years until my death.
And I bet it was you who hung out in Whitney’s closet,
the one she used to torture her sister.
I remember you Boogeyman.

While you still skulk around at 2 a.m.
afraid to show your face when I’m upright and strong,
still prefer the dark, when I’m naked and vulnerable in my bed,
you unnerve me now with your sophisticated evil,
hijack my sleep with a roulette of nasty fears.

You still frighten me into counting the days until I die,
but now you know how to link it to the pain in my left side.
Now you mock the space between what
I thought I would be and how I turned out,
leaving me anxious in the meager days I have left.

You trigger anxiety that only visits with you in the depth of night,
turning adventures into nightmares,
opportunities into shams,
events into catastrophe,
leaving me tossing and turning,
hard pressed to grasp for the breath that might calm

and a good night's sleep.

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