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  • Poetry > Free Verse
    This morning left a bruise. Like all pains, It was born dual with a set of instructions: Insert thumb: twist: enter. I followed, I found, I felt, I knew, I bandaged....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    I caught him as a deer On the road. It hurt But not as much as it hurt him. Paused on the shoulder I yelled through my machine (is that how you deal with sick animals?) And coaxed him into shotgun. We slid through wet grass (no more pavement for us, Sleek (and traumatic) as volcanic g...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    The dark wall panels Pull back to release Black birds coughing Flippant moths. The exterminator Steps back and asks, “What the hell is this?” Yellow newspaper pages Rise like sleeping chests But there is no reason For the wind to blow. Now fizzle out the candles On the dusty do...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    Evening sun shines light stripes on my desk, Through the tabs of my pop can trash. I thread this light, Like you would a needle, Through the eye of the nearest pop tab. A second can will serve as spool For this end of thread Lying golden on my desk. I close my eyes to think, I open...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    What is my purpose? To find purpose in this Purposeless stuff Via purposeful poetry. I will become A well oiled, Well versed Purpose finding machine. Purp-o-matic 5000. Insert chaos, I exert order. Insert apathy, I exert spirit. Insert problem, I exert solution. And I’m all your...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    Scrunched like a flexed bicep I will not spasm. My bones would crack Like hard candy between molars, My head between pillows, I would crack, But for the echo (which would disturb my silent determination). I would rather flesh was waxed from bone, Pulled back with sheets Than get ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    The summer introduces itself as A not-too-hot, Not-too-humid, Late afternoon in May. It's nice to meet you, With the hot black dogs And wilting weeds Expiring in the sun. I'll talk to you While you sit in the shade, Humoring me just for one month. Yes, I know you need To mingle wit...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    There is a warrant out for this afternoon. If you open the window The light wavers On the floor Like heat on Nevada roads. Leave it open too long, It’ll blow away. What else is on Nevada roads? Animals lay in life-like positions Struck there and stuck there. The wood floor is hot in ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    On the wood floor, In the dark, Just before dawn. I lay breathing as The waves of wood grain Swell and recede Beneath me. I can hear it thundering upstairs And it’s beautiful. Stonehenge around me, are: Elephants, Gardens, Women, Men, And purple. The thunder, the wood, the dark, Th...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    Hot air and stagnant thoughts Lay along the floor. Heavy like sleep, They turn their heads to Blink at my feet, Mingle involuntarily With my bobbing ankles, And suck only enough Energy in to sigh It back out. It’s hot and smoky And dark And they know that I like that. Sly bastards, m...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
    The air is wet. The walls, the pictures, Are wet, And drip softly onto the wood floor. I cannot contain my rain cloud. The birds sound like cell-phones. Do not beep and flash in the product of my mood swings, Flip open your wings And fly to another birdbath. I know the thunder, I kn...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    Round, anxious face Yearning and turning Towards light (always). Your rivers flow – as Tears – from clear, ocular Oceans. Dew whets your dark Lips And I know, I know, This is a night for thinking....
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    The rain seems to make a film on the world. The trees are so obscured by foggy window and film of rain That they are as the ghosts of trees, Their deep evergreen needles Grayed with age. Grayed with the forgetfulness of age. The once clear window seemed To be struggling to keep the light...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    Two thin green stems lean towards each other –tall stems too, for their peering little Heads reach just above my window sill. They have grown together, these plants, With the common purpose of watching me. Why? I do not know. But, oh, I know they are watching. And do not think, little p...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    Hot metal and an overworked machine that exudes steam like breath that sweats black oil into your palm in puddles that read like a black cat: this isn’t your time, Clementine. This isn’t your time. I don’t need no horoscope, This isn’t my time....
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    Despite wildfires and book burnings The Story, The History lives on: Rustling whispers last longer Than anything flammable, Can be hidden for generations. Word of mouth and rustle of leaves Carry a precious cargo Yet are by no means inept. The veins, the shape, the tint, May not remain unto...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    Taught. Slack. Taught. Slack. The seat belt does its job, But it’s not saving any lives. Slumped against the seat. We’re stopped between another Set of buildings That flank like Greek entrance pillars The crispy, crumbly Delicious remains of The burnt out apartments. “How many times...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    Everything is fair game, There is no out of bounds. No no-man’s-land. No safe haven. What I see And what you give me And what I feel And what I find. Nothing is safe. Everything is mine....
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    I like to watch people trace things. Rather, I like to watch people in the process of pretending. Tracing an equation on a locker. But if you watch their eyes they aren’t looking at the locker, They’re looking at a complex series of numbers and letters. They see what isn’t there. Becaus...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    I smack you And you become Beautiful. Is that how I became Beautiful?...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    Calc calc calc. Do (aspiring) poets calculate? I think not. Will integrals ever Worm their way Into my inner words? I hope not. They say math is The universal language, The language of the world. Well, in that case I will create My own world. It is located On the continent Of my lap...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    Miles and miles Of rusty rolling pins Rattle their complaints to me. Hey, I have complaints of my own; I don’t like this anymore than you do. Monotonous mountains of boxes Act as bookends, Feed and relieve the river of rollers, (Always a pile of empty, Always a pile of full). Even t...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
    I can do nothing but smile When the grunts of passing trucks (Both sounding and smelling like pigs) Waft through my cracked window. I could not wish For more beautiful flowers to study, Than those silver cans And cigarette butts That sprout perennially from the cement. My spirit (yes, ...

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