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Late autumn, a day of mist and rain keeping me indoors. I think of Bashō at the outset of his final journey: taking up the walking stick, crossing the threshold. All day long I have sat by the window watching rain, reading The Narrow Road, strumming the guitar. Outside, dead leaves have piled up, vines have lost their bloom. In a nearby field, cranes pick through harvest remains without concern for the downpour.

from Americana Motel
New nonfiction!

Literary Journalism Creative Nonfiction



These are the genres I work in, frequently with a focus on travel, politics, and social issues. My work has appeared in the Miami Herald, the Washington Post, and numerous literary journals.

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New Poetry
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