Category: Poems

Last spring mama counted sixty-two blossoms on the tree outside her window…

You go in for a brake squeak and the catastrophic fizz begins…

No to the gobsmacked buffoon who kept raining on us. No to the peach pit stuck in the ant hill hole.

We drive Texas, Arkansas, Tennesse and Virginia to deposit you in your new life

two monks walk a muddy road

Thanks to you my meathead is better than it was but not as good as it used to be.

The suck you lent my lobe sent a shiver across my jonquils

Let me be the first to shake your hand, fresh from a shattering kiss…

In the asylum no one sings on key. We sit in the silence, you and I, growing uncomfortable.

In the season’s first sputtering love session she spews a short stack of pancakes on my shoes