 quiet desperation
equates to the matchbooks they scrape and snort white lines up the snoot transcendental hedgerows that crawl inside your skull growing like lichen and moss i’m skating on my head henry david ‘cause the lake says so insofar as it speaks at all something gutted my brain nodules with a bladed knife i’m so empty I can only look out long enough to watch the evening spread and die contemplation in the name of the death of wisdom --Ronald V. Micci ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A native New Yorker, Ron is a prolific author of plays, screenplays, novels, and short stories, from the sublime to the irreverent, many available for perusal on the Booksie website as well as Amazon.com. A published playwright (Brooklyn/Heuer Publishers), former magazine editor and advertising proofreader, his one-acts have been staged in Manhattan and throughout the country. Fleas on the Dog magazine website has published two of his pieces in issues No. 13 and 14.
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A native New Yorker, Ron is a prolific author of plays, screenplays, novels, and short stories, from the sublime to the irreverent, many available for perusal on the Booksie website as well as Amazon.com. A published playwright (Brooklyn/Heuer Publishers), former magazine editor and advertising proofreader, his one-acts have been staged in Manhattan and throughout the country. Fleas on the Dog magazine website has published two of his pieces in issues No. 13 and 14.
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