POEM ALONE

The dead don’t care about grave robbers because the dead are dead. It’s still being alive that’s the problem. Who would ever want to wake up...

1. Lots of rain and one dry walk In a town wedded to water: River, ship canal, estuary And a pathway at Albert Basin Where I meet the docker...

Do you think I will die  because my hair is grey  and I lie quietly on my bed?  I hold the stars in my eyes,  and the universe. Galaxies  ar...

I remember when my high school friend stayed over for the night and we watched The Doors for the first time. It filled us with crackling en...

I watched a man hit another man across the head with a pint glass the last time I was here. Didn’t like something about him – the way he spo...

The four apocalyptic horsemen could arrive today and a majority of mortal witnesses would hold their phones up to record the entertaining de...

The worst thing about an MRI isn’t the claustrophobia. It’s the terrible racket that accompanies the claustrophobia, roughly equivalent to t...

Summer days spent at the subdivision swimming pool I rode my bike to, past the lime green hills of a newly-made golf course. Sharks and Minn...

Fighting the smothering in your chest, Breath whistles rapidly through pursed lips Sucking cool air from the open window. Watching the moon ...

It comes down to trees because soil and weather will always keep growing them, except for that one,  killed for my paper coffee cup and its ...