Author: KCF

  • Luscious

    I stand on the cusp of the dawn. One day stands between me and the night. One day followed by a long night. I step into my one day, thrilled, embattled, twisting, ecstatic. As I am falling into it, tumbling awkwardly, arms flailing, I grab at things. I hold them for a while, but then…

  • Swallow

    Swallow. From the cliffs where the birds make their nests to the intimate scene in a hotel room full of colored lights, the word “swallow” makes its poetic appearance. From awkward dinner table scenes (“swallow your food”) to the heightened moment when one is waiting to find out who will: swallow. Words are artifice. Stare…

  • The Learning Curve

    I hit an oil slick on a sharp downhill curve and my bike and I went careening across the road. My partner, who went down right behind me on the same slick on the same curve, fared worse: his helmet grew a deep crack and he lost his short-term memory for a while in the…

  • Naked soul playing with fire

    “… with the amps blasting and Jason sweating as if he were being barbecued under the stage lights, he called for more air conditioning but no air conditioning would save him under those conditions – never mind that he seems to inhabit his own personal inferno.”

  • On the Pampa

    This photo was taken on Julio Mendes’s ranch in Cordoba, Argentina while shooting photos for a horse breeding magazine.

  • Rising from our ashes

    The day begins with a sigh, so much to lose, so much to gain. I disagree with those who say that we are born innocent and pure. Rather, we are born plump and unformed — beautiful in our rawness perhaps, but just a bare hint of who we may be. We are born of colliding…

  • The training

    It is early morning. The hills are buried in a vast down comforter of muffling, white fog. Even as I watch, in no hurry to see the morning become day, I see the fog lifting against the hills, like a thermometer slowing rising. Once the ridge line is clear (and it is safe on those…

  • The Desdemona

    On the Patagonian coast, just off a ramshackle town, there is a shipwreck. When the tide is out, the kids go out there to play.

  • Unabashed

    I am writing, acting, putting words to paper in order to exercise them, exorcize them, get them out. They reside within me but they must out. It is the never-ending breathless gush. I am learning that mastery of the little things leads to mastery of the big things. I have always tended to focus on…