Forty Days Isn’t Enough:

I close the door to the four floors where my tutorial.

From here on in, Imperial Decline used to take place there.

The stone and starry Monday night was riddled with penultimate milestones.

Talent Show

“Can I get a hell yeah?” I proclaim,
I need a response to know I’m not a shit stain
I get it again, they give me a chant
And I suppose at this point I really can’t faceplant

The Bodleian Chimes

Six notes, bliss on repeat. I wish I could sing along in this deafening bell tower,

A choir of my fellows is not far away to join in serenade.

But in a flash, it’s over.

Don’t Sweat It

The 1 AM return across George Street

Is becoming as familiar as not feeling my face on the way back.

How in the hell did I sweat through two different shirts tonight..?

A Traumatized Philistine in the crowds of Love Oxford

I stand in front of a blocked up Broad street, Turned into a high-decibel, 30,000 Pound stage for music and …

Tourist

“I’ve got a weight in my heart that shots for a pound won’t fix.”

Zephyr

The wind motivated towards the little stone church towards the bench I keep fancying.  The skies reward the attentive, the …

Happy Birthday, Eleanor.

Before all else, nothing was coincidental. Each avian felt a deep, reflexive understanding of their place like guests at a numbered party table. Seventy-one of them, Eleanor counted in gleeful shock. She had almost forgotten the age she was turning. Seventy-one, she recited in her head. She clung to the number like a beloved memento.