the lady from the gas company put’s me on hold while I wait and wonder isn’t a moment supposed to be no more than two three maybe...

don’t we dole out love like it’s liquor in a locked cabinet? give strangers a shot glass of something cheap if anything at all? while...

Hoping for a round number I looked around to steal or beg from the other 29 to build the pan and make just one more I know people and...

at what age can one slip on the shufflers sleeve on a robe step through the front door and pick up the paper? I’ve seen them in their...

I know you night people don’t wait for moonlight the sun and moon don’t do much for you you seem drawn from gloomy place to gloomy place...

dry eye dry skin dry scalp swollen butt swollen eye coughing runny nose sore throat scooting and itching and licking earwax buildup...

if this were a Thanksgiving poem by definition I’d have to lean on gratitude and write about all that’s kept me alive and avoid the...

things you do for others I hope you have already done for yourself because love is the water you drink from the bucket of your own well...

it’s a simple thing the sun warms the cold darkness both ours and the world’s

here in the desert squirrels don’t swing from trees they dig holes and hide under rocks just like I tried to do as a young shy...

church bells surprise us cloud burst of a guilty faith raining at high noon

tender and exposed the trust of a dog’s belly soft as a secret

if I write every poem just looking out the window they all start to feel like pictures paintings two dimensional landscapes a play of...

five blackbirds on a leafless branch one sits apart from the others that one may have a real story and the together four I bet they know...

maybe I shouldn’t count my blessings out loud maybe there’s a stock market for those things something with the potential to send them...

desert sunny days are borne best in a tree’s shade without cicadas

plays the mind fiddle like no other his bow especially good on the outer strings pitting the really high with the really low notes...

wouldn’t it be fun to walk with an old maple tree on a hot sunny day? I can imagine the light, breezy conversation I’d begin in the shade...

not another poem today about the moon or stars the sunrise or butterflies silence or birds singing I beg to myself there’s an unsprouted...

sunrise over one mountain baby-faced clouds above the other a rare thunderless birth it’s flushed cheeks caught in the morning light...