This is not a love poem to a person. I have left many of them behind, and none of them have chosen to stowaway in my heart or mind or otherwise to be remembered. This is not a love poem to the home I left…

My calves have always been my best feature, I think. I can thank mom for that, with her “Chicago Walk.” As she always called it. Never in a hurry, but always on the run. That was just her way. A speed walker at 9, I…

  stun the world by fire soft empire hard space some linear war of flame & a sinister fortress of clouds

The click of gears rusting, the brain slowing, I feel it surely as can be, that groaning halt as the great steel husks echo, a shuddering clang that crashes through the empty air. You point to the formula before me, college young, youth fresh, frustrated….

Plant your feet. Gauge the distance. Ready your line and begin to whirl. Cast!   That look of pure determination shall haunt fish all their meager lives.

Luck I never was much of a fisherman until I fell in love with one. Even then, I always carried a book, snacks, a thermos of coffee, notebook and pencils. He did what he could to keep it interesting. We bet on first fish in…

Compliments hang, speared On subtly barbed comments, Disguising deadly intent. Weave between the lines, Better to be a cold fish Than a terrible warning Prompt: Fishing Form: Sedoka

Saturday mornings were my favorite Not just because of the cartoon blocs on ABC Though, it’s certain I would be upset if I missed them It was the Saturday’s of summer that I relished Above He-Man, Loony Toons, and Garfield On those warm Saturday’s Powder…

A hook on a line A quiet understanding This is how we bond?

(a tanka) she breathes best unspooled, syllables spilled silver soft. bait her with a phrase, line cast out long and ready into wordpools filled with stones.