a man must find his way to live in the world a poet must find his way to let the world live
Women were placed at the flames, accused of witchcraft, and the smoke of murder rose to the heavens. Man’s ignorant spirit bursting up to the gods, as if they didn’t already know how vi...
i search each second find words under rocks and rugs looking for poems
on a night back in 1998 at the 24 hour Happy Chef diner in Fort Dodge, Iowa when both of us were drunk and stoned
desert town of fools born of sand and rainmakers devoted to thirst
the lavish liberty of lust unbound in the salacity of self a lover may take too long or doesn’t take long enough a lover may manipulate you
i was born in a basket of apples out of place from the start always berated by questions like “where is your stem?” “why are you so round?”
we can wear the morning air like a jacket and move deep into those bright
i used to go to Gramma’s every Sunday evening we would order pizza watch whatever shows we could agree on
it opens with a violin slowly bowing its premeditated plo… stalker lurking in darkness waiting for a victim to stroll by the verse comes out quick
sparks fly when you put a couple forks in the microwave too
watching horror films on vhs with gramma saturday nights
illuminated with the yellowish-ora… parked alone now waiting to be driven away by the last man at the office dedicated to his job
fallen from the nest mother bird leaves me to die never to take flight
i looked to my right hoping to see a bass player keeping the low end tight behind me hoping to see someone