S, I gotta tell you, this sixty-five cents is worse than a lump of coal. I pray the remover of obstacles

What is your idea of placid? How about a mountain campground? Yes, but here in the midst is a querulous brain a competitive heart

The duration of a miracle is exactly one moment, after that you may as well be talking about what happened in the big game last night.

There was on my property an old gnarled stump, it was weathered and hardened, It was aesthetically pleasing as d… but I decided to take it to a spec…

I know people see him and think, “Gee, that’s crazy.” Which makes it embarrassing to see him

death with a sickle and like most any farmer their work is never done and life never stops springing for… and never tires of trying

Mojave Desert crushed cars stacked six, seven, ten tall. From the junkyard juts a billboard:

Needless of a judge, a contrite heart is a bird suspended on a current, shifting myriad planes without asking or telling.

It’s not so easy anymore, a few beers won’t topple me. Twelve hours will mend me. I am boxing a balloon, humping a leg—

A tide of blood, miniature in compare— But an ocean no less, to the virus in there.

Tears tears do a walk-by unload the clip don’t know why now

The moon lulls me as I wade through poppy fields, dragging limp hands behind me, catching each pod long enough before it snaps upright again

Hollow fang? Volcano. Cat’s purr? Hymnals. Intuition?

Just leave the fucking flags at ha… Or half-staff. Or whatever it’s called. Just fucking leave them there.

Upon that special mound there is a cleanliness, a purity sanctimonious, something so perfect it’s numerological—