Writer. Demand Poet.
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At the concert, the singer
Strums her guitar and stares
Into the lights, singing
Live. I’m bleeding out a
Day’s (more than) pay for
Her and in this 18th row
I’m just a shadow, though I
Hope suppose … Read the rest “In the Details: Live”
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Here he comes.
I know he’s on his way. I can’t
See him but I feel the
Tremor. Maybe outside the
Wind has come up,
A last leaf ripped from
The squealing oak and
Rain jumps onto … Read the rest “Oncoming”
We’re back.
We never left.
Songs silenced.
Windows stripped.
One last dead needle
Plucked from a sock.
We’re back,
Wandering
The Big Room, now
Mostly empty. Two
Chairs, one piano
A box of crayons.
We return to
A holy plain… Read the rest “Big Room”