It was the spring of the final year When the tiredness in her limbs was unprecedented She could see all the warnings, and though she could hear Instructions were left unimplemented It was the spring of the final year When the best of the city…

I hear voices raised. You are arguing with the kids again. Intergenerational bullshit coming in. Don’t you remember this age? You like arguing with them. Me not so much. I remember being this age So much to say. Now I am not always sure I…

Words bursting in , brown thick mud Slow , deadly swamp he was , all right Signboards neglected , warnings disdain Jumped on she right into brewing up muck Gasped for air , thrashed up arms Came no help , for she was the rude…

Why do we call it warfare when war is anything but fair? Why do we call it a funeral when it’s anything but fun? Why do we get to ask these questions? – Because words.

Uncle Stasiek Stanley lived with Mama. The farm was once the home of chickens and cows, of his thick-handled Polish immigrant Tata. He was the eldest, behind the two Mama lost as babes. The six siblings loved and fought, Polish tempers run amok in wild…

words flow from me like breath or tears, necessary to my life, like you.

(Shelter) Guys and Dogs   He wakes before the sun, dressing in the dark with quiet hands Shoes clutched to chest, he nimbly pads down between the rowed, smudge-faced boys; the babies, toddlers, skinned-kneed kids and finally, breathlessly, past the oldest boys he turns to…

late into this world explanation not excuse my soul is on time

I started pretty late into Hour One, but here it goes, this poem is called Hangover:   I split my brain into haves and have-nots, ushered in faux light from between the blinds, resisted the image and the text back, when you say words you…

I really want to let you in Honestly I truly do But my guard has a mind of its own It built an unyielding fortress even I cannot break through