My poetry collection, Permanent Ink on Temporary Pages, will be released next month in ebook and paperback formats.
Each of the 16 poems in Permanent Ink on Temporary Pages stands alone, but also serves as a piece of a larger narrative. From the death of poetry itself in “At Rest in the Sea” to the lifetime-spanning “The Back of the Room”, the stream-of-consciousness piece “Alone” to the song-turned-poem “Sunday Calls for Cloudy Skies”, and the thematically-related interludes “Letters”, “Pages”, and “Poetries”, Permanent Ink on Temporary Pages tells the story of a narrator struggling to find his place in the world, drifting between tangential universes, and replacing the people around him with fictional characters, all the while writing letters he doesn’t send, poetry scattered to the wind, and pages full of everything he can’t bear the thought of losing.
My plan is to release all formats of the book on June 24th, 2014.
The ebook will be up for pre-order on most major retailers soon. In the meantime, here is the table of contents. A few of the poems available for reading now, which you’ll find through their links:
At Rest in the Sea
Sunday Calls for Cloudy Skies
Shadows and Fingerprints
The Back of the Room
In the House Across the Street
On the Mend
I Could Have Shined
Love on a Page
I’ve been going over my poetry collection, and on the whole I’m happy with it. It’s looking very unlikely that I’ll scrap it at this point, so I’m probably going to share a few more poems in the coming weeks. I still want to give it another round of editing, then there’s assembling it for publishing, finding a cover, hopefully getting some external feedback, etc. Hopefully I’ll have more concrete information about it next time I mention it on here.
In the meantime, this poem is called “On the Mend” and it almost didn’t make the cut. It’s one of the shortest poems in the collection, but it fits the theme well, and I’m happy with how it turned out.
On the Mend
I’ve been throwing bricks
From atop this house of sticks
And I’ve been casting stones
Across a lake as dry as bones
I hope you never know
How much time I’ve spent planning for bridges
I never come to, much less have to cross
And I’ve been planting seeds
In a yard not fit for weeds
I’ve been writing words
That leave the page like little birds
I was pretty sure
I’ve spent most of my life burning bridges
I couldn’t sleep beneath, much less try to cross
I wrote you down so you would always stay
But a heart like yours won’t be contained
So I put quotation marks around your name, like wings
So you could fly away from me
I hope you never see
I’ve spent every hour since then building a bridge
And I can barely walk, much less bear a cross
Tonight I’ll try to sleep
Beside the secrets I don’t want to keep
Tomorrow I’ll start throwing bricks
At your makeshift crucifix
And hope you do believe
You won’t find any answers jumping off of bridges
Come down from there. You’ve suffered enough.