it’s clouds I dislike when my soul is cold and hope must search in their shadows it’s clouds I need to force a houseclean or at least...

if you don’t care about the characters your heart falls asleep? life is no different anyone that tumbles into a well needs only confess...

for the raven who blows out his head feathers to attract a sweetie like a black-leathered Fonz he mumbles an off-color pickup line that...

notice our serious tones come in lower octaves confessions emerging in a guttural grovel while playful ones range much higher a joke...

how wonderful it is to have friends willing to scour every part of my barrel with me from moving rotting feelings at the bottom to...

if your front door is your car door and your bedroom your backseat and your trunk your closet try to park at night where you can put each...

I paint the bitter coating over my keratin carefully on the vulnerable spots in sunlight the tips of my fingers like the barrels of ten...

I need to stretch every day down to my toes so I can still tie shoes over the ship’s railing to see where I’m going past the moon for...

what is daily life but a photo album mental pictures snapped and pasted onto the page of a memory today’s white dusted peaks tower behind...

you want the sun but you know you need the rain sometimes it happens both ways like this morning where you’d see a rainbow in each...

you’re writing poetry on a garden bench in the summer shade of an old oak tree among thousands of nut shells late afternoon light...

in the pickleball parking lot seething in my car poor shot selection terrible execution stupidly easy misses I look up and watch an old...

no bird has flown up to my ear and sang a tune nor have I spoken to a funny-looking dog and the wind hasn’t pirouetted for me any of...

I never pick up the newspapers barefooted with my robe on this late in the morning so today when I slow step the cool driveway to grab...

it’s inner space travel to unknown places as well as the planets we all know so many trips I can’t count to that straight-shot moon I’ll...

a tomato in Italy or a grape in France every expectation to grow smart and strong show up your peers go to the head of the class and...

splitting logs with a dull axe I’m reminded of one moment I tried to tell the truth my teeth unable to sever the words from my tongue I...

I can only assume climbing the same mountain many times is no different than ten years of Sundays walking the same park trees rocks ...

the way the sun strikes the world no one sees the same thing the same way everyday every glance the next “click” in a life of pictures...

voices through open windows prickle my ears like fog at dusk before an ear-splitting roar drowns a drunken laugh cheers clash with groans...