i used to go to Gramma’s every Sunday evening we would order pizza watch whatever shows we could agree on

i began to tell a grim story of a puppy left alone beneath an overcast sky at first i saw a lost dog sad and without

all of my weary and all of my woe is made into perfect sense a common thread in my favorite son… familiar tones of sadness the beauty of malaise

illuminated with the yellowish-ora… parked alone now waiting to be driven away by the last man at the office dedicated to his job

A long lone bicycle ride there. I have to stay off the booze. I have to stay off Facebook.

you took leave of Egypt for southwest Tennessee the African sun left for the warmth of Sun Record… i commend the move you made

dying of cancer saying her prayers they came to bathe her she asked if would hold her Rosary… “of course”

monuments of song returned to life in my hands records from dead men

i entered into my junior high poet… with such a sense of excitement to share the craft that i had disc… just a couple years earlier a craft that my gramma had

his wings are lazy buzzing around the same pond a fly scared to change

every song smoking drinking partying with

he looks off into the distance as if god exists waiting beyond the winds with some kind of answer he looks on dating sites

in all restaurants madness overwhelms the staff spirits break like plates

a leaf hoped that the branch would be strong but they were both born from an ol… and those dying roots could only h… until there was no choice

i watch her lips purse around the top end of a cock… sucking up the last drops of a Can… setting the glass arm’s length awa… she lets the bartender see we need…