Patrick Jenkinson

Written November 2011 Walking the Dog on a Winter Morning The stone gray quilt hoodie protects my soft flesh from daybreak's stinging wind. All but my frost numb hands, which shred raw in the constricting leash grooves. Snapping teeth refract the snow bright morning's sterile sun. A cool jerk restrains the combat bred and ready fangs. The icy stream of bodies flow around my petrous veneer.

Written early spring 2012 The Blank Page The blank page. A legion of blue soldiers in rigid formation. Until a spark lights the signal fire. And battle begins. Vast expanses sucked dry by intellectualist greed. Forests chopped to the roots to fuel the great poetic charge to nowhere in particular. Oh ink stained page, I hope your sacrifice was not in vain.

Written Spring 2012 “Well Mr. Johnson, our logs show your machine making a number of attempts at accessing IP addresses registered to DinoDonkeyDicks.com, FatBlackCocks.com, and GayFuckCity.xxx.” The man on the phone noticed the audible gasp that United States Commercial Debt Recovery's client recovery manager Richard Johnson exhaled when he heard the news. He patiently waited for a response. “Now listen Ted, I don't know what you're trying to tell me, but I can assure you that I had nothing to do with any visits to inappropriate websites.” Theodore Allen noted the slight upward inflection in Richard's voice, the breathy panting that escaped from his mouth between sentences, and the increased speed he was talking at. “Oh, I wasn't attempting to imply that a man of your position would use company resources to view prohibited content. Virus related hacks are a very common issue. These issue's happen all the time. I will just have to do a standard password reset fo...

Written Spring 2012 Adrian looked out the window of the train cart and, for the fourth time since the Amtrack R143 from New York to Hartford had broken down, tried to take in the beautiful deciduous forests surrounding him. For a moment or two, Adrian stared out into the setting Connecticut sun attempting to induce some sort of awe. He ran his eyes in an even motion down the lines of pine trees that engulfed the horizon, giving each one an opportunity to make some sort of defense for why they should be looked at, studied, or appreciated; why people would leave their air conditioned houses and smother themselves in these uniform rows sharp pointy trees, each as sharp and pointy as the last. After finding whatever testimony the trees mustered unconvincing, Adrian returned to his iPad; a device thats worth seemed self evident to him. He swiped the device on and delved back into a book that had no issue evoking aesthetic pleasure, Suetonius' “The Twelve Caesar's”. He swiped through...