It's been a long time. Truth be told, the reason I haven't been writing here is much the same as the reason I haven't been sleeping in my own bed most nights lately. The summer is a mess of sweat and hurry always, this year hardly the exception. I am on the highway or the commuter rail more than I am in my own apartment. I am searching out a new job and trying to be as much myself as possible in the places that won't quite take me at face value; I have to wear my septum ring inside my nose at work, cover my tattoos, put on a fake phone voice, say things like "my pleasure" when the customers infuriate me. I feel absolutely stuck. The last time I saw my father, he could not speak. I'm afraid I'll never hear his voice again. I'm afraid of a lot of things. But there is good too. A poem taken for the June issue over at The Pedestal. A lot of time with those I love. I am holding these triumphs like a fistful of clover. Nothing pretty, but lucky perhaps.