One star is not quite enough to light up the sky. But a sky full of stars can light up the world.

The memory of you still fresh on me thoughts flood my mind with a heavy canter Horses of different colors always seem to find their way to me; galloping, tralloping so swiftly into my space, to the beat of fuckery’s drums and the bells of…

Green on grey outside, a world of cement and tin, a kaleidoscope.   Paper boys and girls, playing underneath the green, above them, grey skies.   Metal cars whirring, as paper men go to work, waving the green ‘bye.

I have forty minutes Enough to write, write possibly, possibly and adequately, a slightly adequate poem or one with delusions of adequacy, but this is a time in the game when your play not to win but to not lose. This perfunctory bit of squalid…

It is the middle of the night and hearts are breaking all over the world the bars have closed and the drunks have walked home, shed their skins, and passed out on delicious pillows the night is slowly going to sleep and I am wide…

Sycamores are their own regime. Please startle the starlight. Crawl into the murmuring of swallows. Please wake Judith and her knife. What is lost but palm trees and grief. What is lost but the living.

the pink lemonade and limeade colored graffiti lined street ten steps of a labyrinth slice the cunning leading the exuberant first fox, then bear, by his side girl child what transcends is motion outrivals ambition leaving monarchy behind the adventurers who can’t get lost in…

I wish I could ever have a thought without you in it; a hug without your warmth, a pillow without your softness, a touch without your shiver, or a joke without your laugh. But I’m glad I can’t.

Her name was Tippy, she was just a puppy. Covered in black fur, with a white T on the chest. Who was there every day after school. Something didn’t feel right one day. Hopping off the bus, I had no greeting. Trusting the lies I…

They followed sly fox, through the cement surrounded trees. Lil’ Red, keeping pace With black bear, Who’s ready to hibernate.   They see the sky-blue pink, poka~dotted, artistic walls As they stroll along   Sucking the life, From paint, into words In ekphrastic forms. Poets,…