I like to stand on the shoreline and cast my worries
into the sea of anonymous waves.
I feel as if the oncoming tides and the outgoing current
are the perfect gesture,
as if there is no better place to wash away my sins.

I come to this place to breathe; I come here to feel the breath of God
and in a sense, I come here to bleed my thoughts,
and feel the wind upon my face.
I come here to get away from my yesterdays
and to ask for a better tomorrow.
In fact, I come here to dream.

I consider this place to be my sanctuary….

I see the ocean as a source of energy:
It constantly moves, and swells.
Sometimes it moves too fast, and other times,
the ocean can be beautifully still.

We once talked about needing a place to escape. 
You have your place
….and I have mine

I have places like this:
I have a spot where I stand on the roof of Manhattan
I have a place beside Jones Inlet to watch the boats move in and out
I have keyboard to type my thoughts on
a machine to print them …..and I have you

I don’t think I need much else.

Do you?

to a mother and her daughter

Even with an explanation behind it, behavior is not always an understandable thing. But then again, neither is insanity, or alcoholism. Intellectually, there are reasons for our behavior. Emotionally, however, these reasons do not always mend the brokenhearted. Often, these reasons do nothing more than add to the confusion because often, our reasons fall short and make little sense.

I once sat in an upstairs office of a Continue reading


In the summer of my young adulthood, my troubles were behind me and with my new life ahead, I was invited to a small actor’s studio in the lower Westside of Manhattan. I had never been to a show like this before, but through a friend, I was told about an acting group that formed their own stage and performed in front of small, to medium sized groups.
Outside, the door to the studio was mostly black with chipped paint and different names and graffiti etched into its steel. Above this, a bright light bulb shined with a rainbow-colored halo around its glow. The light was partially protected in a cage and the electrical wires were slightly exposed and seemed to almost dangle from the brick-faced building.

At the time, I smoked Camel filters. I was waiting Continue reading

About a Father

As a kid, I used to wonder why The Old Man was always uptight. Of course, I had no idea what it meant to have a bank account, let alone keep money in it. At the time, my high priced ticket items were Bazooka Joe Bubble Gum or a candy bar. At the most, I needed money to play video games or to go to the movies, but that was it. Everything was paid for by The Old Man or through my allowance, which was given to me by my Mother, but first, it was given to her by The Old Man.

As a little boy, I had a Continue reading

Something from The Daddy Diaries


On an early morning at the fifth tee of a nine-hole golf course, I stood, ready to swing my 3-wood across a white golf ball. I took a deep breath, and then I took a practice swing. The morning was gray and the grass was wet from an overnight rain. Spring was underway and the school year was close to an end.

The Old Man stood behind me. “Remember to keep your head down this time.”
With my head slightly tilted and my legs spread at shoulder’s width, I extended  my arms out with the club in hand, and focused on the bottom curve of the golf ball.

The course was quiet. It was early but Continue reading




It is too late to recapture the first moments when laughter was less expensive and the nights along Bleeker Street were punctured by the first signs of daybreak.
Besides, most of the stores have changed now. They no longer translate to say, me amidst my wild longhaired days of confusion and you in your short skirts, fishnets, and Doc Martin steel-tip boots.

Same as we have grown, so have the avenues. same as we have aged, the streets have changed, and all the remains are the memories of St Mark’s and a diner called Stingy Lulu’s.

It seems even then, I knew I would meet you. I just didn’t know how or when.
I knew you though….
I knew you existed because I thought of you often and wondered if you thought of me.

I once wrote to you, but I never had the tongue to share it.
I wrote:

If I listen, I can hear you in my thoughts.
And if I look, I can see you in my dreams and behind the walls of my eyelids.
But I only hope the day comes soon
…and I can hold you in my arms forever.

This was the poem I used to describe you.
I knew who you were, but yet, I never saw your face. I knew how you would sound, but yet, I never heard your voice.
I knew how I would feel as soon as I saw you, but I wondered for too long, and I grew impatient. Continue reading


I am writing this specifically to you…..

During the last angry lecture from The Old Man, he told me, “Sometimes I think it would be easier if you just committed suicide. It sure as hell would be easier than watching you kill yourself like this.”
According to The Old Man’s account, I dragged my feet when I walked. I barely opened my mouth when I spoke, and as I spoke, my words dragged slowly as if my brain were permanently relaxed from my drug use.

“I swear it would be easier if you killed yourself. At least this way your mother and I could hurt and then we could heal….but watching you do this to yourself is worse than watching you die.”

I was no longer their innocent little boy. My skin color was Continue reading