My signature style
is just to blab.
To let it all hang out
like excess flab.
Why must I tell you people
every little thing?--
Sentiment too lengthy for page,
words too choppy to sing.
I would hate to think
some see me as a fraud
who does things without thinking
that they could not, or,
should not applaud.
But even with a gallery of images in mind
the words that come out are too honest, I find.
(and they are ugly,
they are so ugly)
No covering up with watercolors today,
Every talent here has been washed away.
Only with my signature you are left
the loopy, whirly, twisty, bereft.
Tickle your toes. . .
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driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu... -
nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
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in August for John Keats I didn't die unrequited. I took a wife in August. My wife was wearing silky white shoulders holding out her bon...
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Today I was interviewed for Poets United small stone: July 13th so many things for granted, taken: two kinds of silverware.
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A woman's stance feet parted so that like a breezy window the mantle opened slightly lets in curves of salty air- but here there is no, ...
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Reminder "You do not seem to understand," they'd say "That rivers are wide, and are not so easily crossed, we fear, they ...
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At age 25 for Sir John Donne Down went San Felipe. Crimson and pale, rippling, clinging to it's mist. Oh, how that flagship hurled itsel...
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and now that the anger is gone there may be a few more glimpses like looking out of the window through a thin veil of silk. a look in...
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July 7th the face of a rose deflates our windowsill- not much of a garden. July 8th after the party- a painting is crooked I think someone d...
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No one cares for me, because I once cared for you. futile attempts to invigorate the soil with hands un-gloved, dirty deeds to provide my li...
Poets United Contributor
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