a damp cold washes over me as I look out of my cave and huddle with my desiccated secrets some of which love the wet weather like a few...

Tuesday is a full motion day after Monday’s slow start it should be in 3rd gear at least    moving nicely with only quick potty breaks...

I’ve seen my younger movements like a scarecrow   loosey goosey I’ve seen me old and rusted like a tin man and haven’t we all tried to...

as I walk by    she’s sitting on the curb with her just- peeled orange and takes a bite out of a poem sometimes it’s better not to be so...

there are stowaways in the luggage of other lives pickpockets of moments no one realized they had they use telescopes to voyeur and...

take the poem I’m penning in front of this fire I could write flames like cellophane ghosts crackle and wave orange arms in a fevered...

Let’s pick a name: The LevelHeaders The Common Sensicans The Middle-of-the-Roaders The Compromiserians The Pragmaticrats then I will run...

clouds have bad days too when the sun is out for blood they hide with the dew