2013 will be an odd year. It also contains every digit between 0 and 3. If you happen to be as oddly superstitious as I am, you understand where my fixation comes from. Uneven years have a way of putting me on edge, and I’m grateful to them for that. It’s time I light a fire under my ass.

Now, would I call this a New Year’s Resolution? Probably not. I’d rather call it a New Year’s Anxious Argument with Myself.

So self, here’s the gist of what I want me to do:

-write a helluva lot more poetry

-hone a short story factory in one of the lesser-used recesses of my brain

-seriously scout creative writing MA/MFA programs in Chicago

-submit submit submit

If I can carry out these tasks, my life will progress steadily and my fulfillment will rise considerably.

2012 was an even keel kind of year. Nobody was sure whether or not we’d be burning in a pit of hellfire by now, so they stuck to the program.

No more, people. Be adventurous. You hear me, self?



Throw a new decision on the pile;
it smolders like burning birch bark.
For a few seconds it warms your hands,
affirming your difficult choice–then
it falters and vanishes into the breeze,
getting soot in your eye; stand upwind!

You’re quick to whip up in a frenzy,
but your eyes won’t be fixed by frustration.
Run to the nearest fresh water source,
rinse out those false hopes, dearest.