the day begins

with rockets.


streaks of smoke

and fire lance

the sky.

rockets and ufos

on every channel.

internet rumors.

“we’re being invaded!”

“it’s the military!”

reporters say,

“no word yet on

where these ships

came from, who

is on them, or

where they’re headed.”

another crop of rockets

lift off and fire towards space.

“it does appear

that they’re all leaving

earth’s atmosphere.”

sweat beads on

the brows of the viewers.

someone says,

“they’re leaving.”

the reporter,

“we’re still waiting

for a statement from

the white house.

we’re working

to determine the

president’s whereabouts.”

“that reporter still don’t

wear a mask,”

says a viewer from

behind a mask.

“they’re leaving.”

“let ’em go.”

“i’m fine that they going,

i just don’t like

how they left the place.”

the rockets

stop leaving.

everyone wears their masks

and watch

to see what

will happen next.


mom and i on christmas

the train was empty

but for mom and i.

i leaned against her.

mom closed her eyes.


we rode in silence.

neither saying a thing

about the christmas season,

or what santa brings.


my mom was all i had.

i had no toys or friends.

our home was hidden

where the traintrack ends.


the train passed lights–

red, white and green.

the train passed homes

with christmas trees.


i wished there’d be

a christmas tree

for mom and me.


the train’s power flickered.

mom sat upright.

i said, ‘we’re ok, mom.

it’s just the lights.’


she held me close,

i nestled closer still.

i felt warm tears

begin to spill.


my jeans were wet,

my shoes had holes.

my hair was dirty,

i was awful cold.


then the train

began to slow.

when we got to the end,

it would be time to go.


an old man climbed on,

he was a well-dressed guy.

he wore a grey suit,

and a bright red tie.


he sat down alone,

he also looked tired.

he carried large bags,

that i coyly admired.


there was a coat in one,

a small tree in another.

he smiled at me.

i looked at my mother.


“merry christmas, young man,”

said the old man to me.

“i’m proud to see

you have the gift of love

in your family.”


i remembered his face

from pictures i’d seen,

when he vanished

from the place he had been.


he’d left his bags,

with tags,

for mom and i.


*note: this story is a contest entry for susanna leonard hill’s 7th annual holiday contest. holiday-contest. thanks to jilanne hoffman for the heads up on the contest.

book for sale



thanks to everyone who has been reading throughout the years


i’ve published a book of stuff from this site here.

(don’t worry. i left out all the really shitty stuff.)

please support the Benevolent Economy that we all hold so dear, and buy this book.

i am 30 years old, and although i have always dreamed of writing a book, i don’t know that i ever thought it would actually happen.

to be fair, i took the easy way out and self-published.

but whatever.

my words are in print, and i am happy about it.

so thank you very much for reading.

cheers to a better world someday… or right now.

whichever is fine.



your shameless author