It’s not that I miss the fruit flies but they sure did stick around through the winter months when I kept no fruit I just hoped you’d ask me to dinner.   They’re all dead now, their wings singed in the bulbs of my bedside lamp and I remember tilting my head back and...

Misplaced Proverbs I’m a choosey little beggar, so you say I broke your mold, or stole it off to Everest for a ceaseless climb Every man thinks I’m someone else, might as well be Marilyn, your mother in a red silk nothing touch of something Might as well, if the weather’s right, for...

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I’m watching a trainer slam a large man to the ground. He gets back up. Slam. A lesson in sound: 250 lbs hitting Ensolite. I like it here. We’re scoping the place because we’re filming a short doc on female boxers this weekend, but I can’t focus on lighting with the...

I will be blogging sporadically for the (awesome) group blog We Who Are About to Die. My first post, fittingly, involves juggling lots of things at once: Elizabeth Spiers’ case for creative...

“A digital anthology of contemporary poetry created in only two weeks.”  Submissions, acceptances and rejections, audio recordings of poetry, layout, bios. Everything. Two Weeks. It came together beautifully. I’m not even sure how Bowen and Williams managed to pull it...

J. Bradley at PANK Magazine interviews me in Ask the Author: Hannah Miet. It is kind of about my poem “In our wedding vows, I’d beg.”  It’s also about Hemingway sex...

“Funerals were supposed to be metaphoric and systematic; contained expressions of grief. You weren’t supposed to drink champagne in the morning, no matter how much you wanted to. You were not supposed to sing Elvis songs, or play guitars you don’t know how to play. There were rules....

Published in The Hunter Envoy, September 2nd, 2009 “I’m living alone!” Gabe chanted, stomping up the stairs to his bedroom. My mother, assuming her eight-year-old son was having another temper tantrum, rushed to “restrain” Gabe, which meant embracing him in a bear hug until he...

I have a poem and voice recording in the December issue of PANK Magazine. My friend Sean H. Doyle has a story in the same issue. It’s creepy and good.  In other plugs, my friend Kim is a journalist who just came out of the closet as a poet. We seem to have opposite problems with...