Sometimes the completion of a goal can feel like its unravelling, the complete incorporation of a new skill its dismissal… There is a letting go, it seems. And there we are again, just ourselves, seemingly back where we started. I hate the saying: “everywhere you go, there you are.” Because it’s not true. And yet… I said to my wife tonight I am scared of my sadness; scared of its persistence. I feel lost, and I do often. Even as my son is soon to arrive (due August 16). Even

Note: This editorial was originally published in the April 2018 edition of Life on Capitol Hill and the Washington Park Profile. It originally appeared under the sub-header "Signing off." Dear Readers, It does not often happen that I am lost for words, but in this moment, I find myself struggling to begin. Being a fan of open-ended journeys and writers who attempt to capture the experience of them, I guess I’ll “begin at the beginning,” as Lewis Carroll once penned. I am at a

Of Being Numerous, 12 ‘In these explanations it is presumed that an experiencing subject is one occasion of a sensitive reaction to an actual world.' the rain falls that had not been falling and it is the same world . . . They made small objects Of wood and the bones of fish And of stone. They talked, Families talked. They gathered in council And spoke, carrying objects. They were credulous, Their things shone in the forest. They were patient With the world. This will never r

Note: Originally published in the September 2017 issue of Life on Capitol Hill. It has been a big year for Fresh Food Connect, Denver’s first community-garden-produce-sharing program specifically targeting locals living in food-insecure neighborhoods. “We started in 80205 last year, and by the end of the season we opened up 80207, 80220 and 80210—Park Hill, Montclair and University neighborhoods,” says Groundwork Denver Executive Director Wendy Hawthorne. “We opened them up b

All Night Woman The midnight animals dousing themselves Into bouts of sickness, chugging brown bags At carnival jug tosses and radio rifle relays. Coin-op condoms pressed between big sweating Wads of small bills. The virgins in one booth, One after another—each are the only virgin, Forever and again. Toss the ring, Shout the weight. Just something to do : Night, fleshed out in the country. Nothing’s as simple as seems all this grift. : : Boys watching men run a slit down A fa

Pacific Starfish | On the middle day we saw them, As if we had to be evenly distant from everything made by man—both approaching and...