The.Genre.Artist

My heart, I've worn you down. My heart, I've left you carelessly around in many rooms: San Francisco, Toronto, Glasgow, New York. M...

Few bands will aspire to make music that rivals the mountains. More often, they will turn inside themselves or seek out inspiratio...

To build an old house One must first confront impossibility. It is possible, yes, to lay a new floor With worn boards. But t...

It is December, early morning, As I stand on the shore of a New Year, Looking out at fog-bound water, The city I li...

Lyric Essay published in Death Magazine : A magazine for the enthusiast and non-enthusiast alike. My mother has become a bi...

There is a collection of poems about my mother  in a bottle -- They had need to be rolled. They wouldn't otherwise fit. Some ladies ...

Genre: Lyric Essay based on the experience of Owen Collin Matthews I am digging my own grave. Not metaphorically. I am using a...

It seems the greatest shame -- that this is the hour of clearest thoughts, that I might have to spend this ghastly hour straining for words ...

Installation at Hearth, A Community for Contemporary Art and Sustainable Living.

I've been doing a bit of illustration work with Quiet Life -- a sweet group of fellows from back East who play exactly my brand of folk...

Of the containers one keeps. (click image to enlarge)

I've been planning and carefully choosing the place where I sit. * There is precision of movement and in positioning of t hings. * As on...

Genre: Lyric Essay I found a copy of “14th Street Gold” in the hallway of my loft building. It was in a box of things to the left of the ...