Writer. Demand Poet.
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I heard their hooves on the street where my parents live.
I heard it inside a corner of my dream and before
I even knew I was awake and climbing off the
Futon mattress and squinting night eyes through … Read the rest “Where I Do Not Know”
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We are always eavesdropping.
The boy in the next yard admits
He forgot to do his work, and the ladies who
Race by walking exchange their bodily failures
Like measurements of sifted flour.
I hear you, little bird hiding … Read the rest “Eavesdropping.”
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We are all on the verge
Of something. Like the serene
Beagle standing so still at the
End of his leash, yet shivering
For the ripe time to snatch
That little boy’s dangling sandwich.
We are on the verge … Read the rest “On the Verge”
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It’s nice, isn’t it? The way we all can just look
Out the window and see the
Same things everyday, like that
Same poop-filled plastic bag.
Someone scooped up with
His own hand, closed it gently,
With a … Read the rest “Look Out”