is waking up
to your name.
a rotten barrel.
use them wisely.
A bad poem
A good poem
in the breeze
the poet within.
It occurs to me That I require an ideal To summit these peaks. Something more than a patch. My tenacity shouts above my perception Shooting ...
Fresh pine scent captures holiday spirit. Santa’s little helpers burn clean fuel. Christmas cheer expires on December 26th. Cards and let...
***A prose poem written in pidgin english Da gross cockroach militia stays booming in da plumbing in da face of mass killings in Kaneohe ...
In Greece there’s a place called Meteora where they sent the bothersome ones, too pretty and smart to live in the rural villages. Co...