f I could only fly
he sings,

serving up his marrow
like the hors d’oeuvres no one takes,

graciously enough
to ache in front of strangers,

to miss somebody openly
while guests just pivot and revolve

and sentence pretty verses to the ether,
oblivious to certain death.

You know,
sometimes I write happy songs


(For Blaze Foley)

Selected byNolcha Fox
Image credit:Alvin Mahmudov

Hugh does not prefer to talk about himself in the third person; if he did, he'd tell you he's in a self-imposed exile on the east coast of the USA but still loves his former home in the Sonoran Desert. His first book, Auditions For The Afterlife, was released in May of 2016.