in the end:
it was everything you never said

that set your place at my table
every night

while I ate: alone,
watching re-runs of us

tired promises of happily ever after
lump in my oesophagus

but I never ate anyway,
not alone, not with you, not with anyone;

the roast burned, potatoes boiled over,
while I sat, motionless

in the deafening echo
of your silence

I remember those final moments
and why I stay:

forever alone.

images (4)


The house:
now covered in cracks, mocks with each creak
the downfall of the happily ever after
covered by weeds, infested with parasites
the corners leak staining the walls
that were once so smooth
now poorly spackled to cover the holes
beds broken inwards with shreds of material
masquerading as sheets

Once upon a time:
the house was the dream, happiness filled the empty space
the garden manicured, windows sparkling, cills polished
oh, it was truly something to be proud of
and my love was enough to maintain all that was perfect
as the years went on and the house absorbed the secrets
the dreams evaporated and all keeping up perfection
became the sword that destroyed my heart
and cursed the house of the happily ever after.



‘Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love’ (Shakespeare)

Indeed, there have been lovers, but none so closed as you…
How tight your lips are when I express myself in your mouth…
Grimacing at the memory of every woman you never loved…
Those blasted shackles of all that happened – before me – before you –
Incapable of anything more than a painful touch;
that penetrates all we will never be…


Another Dime Store Prince

Another dime store prince
living in a nineteenth century
ice box.

Empty aluminium clamours in the night.
He’d already packed my things
but wanted my truths.

Frozen by fear, my truths are muted,
frost bitten, one more hurt
under the avalanche of snow.

The reflection of the city night, questions:
why now?
But in a world full of nows

there are no answers
and my dime store prince, so gentle,
so adamant to protect his solitary fortress –

he fears spending what he has not got
I wish this might have ended
different to the rest.

-L.J. Lenehan1220597235-m

2014 in review

The stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,600 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 43 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

For the First Time

L.J. Lenehan

On my path, it rains,
my dry skin moisturized.

For the first time, I stop,
observing the bend up the way,

inhaling the fragrant orchard bloom
I try to understand, how I never noticed

the bloom of thistles, water lilies,
dog rose, blue bells, dragonflies.

My steps are overwhelmed
by the need not to move, conflicted

by what lies up ahead, predators in between
lie each side in wait, to take:

my limbs, my children, my life.
I shake with the weight of my little chest

that holds within it a golden soul,
ready to shine.

-L.J. Lenehan-


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An interview with Michael Xavier



Michael Xavier is an American underground author who writes of love and loss and all the things that matter. As someone who prefers to let his words speak for themselves there isn’t a lot known about the mysterious figure that is Michael Xavier. It is my pleasure it offer our readers a little more insight into the man behind the writings.

Can you tell us a little about yourself? Where are you from?

 I was born in a small mill-town in northern Idaho, at the confluence of the Snake and Clearwater rivers. I refer to my small town in many of my writings and the people I grew up around because I’ve traveled extensively and still haven’t found people quite like them. There is a heavy native American influence in northern Idaho, and though I haven’t been back in 25 years it’s never left me—from how I see the…

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