short poem

There are the fronds again Flimsy green knives Commanded by the wind . . . Or do they know how … More

rain into evening

there were many careening cars by and by the bouncing bushes

dreams like a little bowl of pretzels tiny twisted salt on toast one and another up and over the little … More

oats in my coffee staring tans and black at me stirring round my mind e a c h s i … More

woven palm fronds green and yellow above me casting cool soft shadow sanctuary a sheet called Blanky cocooning me in … More

cars rushing lights waiting going waiting sighs planes roaring wings going going going high brains voicing sounds greeting moving hi … More

they discard for the rich, worthless but even they discard for the starved, homeless but even they discard for the … More

Had some alcohol ———- Waited for you to call, for ———- Me to fall. White wall.