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Reserved seating this is not first-come, first-served you cannot get a ticket from a scalper only from my personal box office not ‘second-run’ house my heart is the first-run feature now playing only the latest and best Sit back, relax. Enjoy the show. And please keep your dirty feet off of the seats in front… Read more
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My past is a detailed map of mosaic tiles; true picture discerned only from a distance up close, personal, the lines of each piece go every which way and intersect at odd angles going nowhere and everywhere Step back a bit and the picture comes into cleaner, crisper focus you see where you have been… Read more
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Periodically, I implode my muse a well-placed charge when set off correctly, it does the job neatly, as it should, with a dusty cloud of self-regard blowing up something big irrevocably changes the skyline, surrounding landscape, leaving an wobbly pile of rubble to be climbed on and explored, sifted through, then hauled away Only then… Read more
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Love is a compunction albeit an unctuous one it is an albatross, a cross to makes you feel bare Love makes for weird poetry, messy emotions hackneyed devotions far exceeding alliterative quotas for exasperation Read more
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My old family photos; little, black-and-white, white-bordered circus fun-house mirrors the reflection peering back at me is not a true replica; more a police artist’s puzzled rendering of what nine different witnesses describe as the same bank robber I look at me and see that someone else staring back in a very clear-cut case of… Read more
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Open the door and the light comes on but only when you open the door Illuminated are the remnants of the recent past (some not so recent) the leftover bits and pieces, scraps and tasty morsels with which you can construct a spontaneous, piecemeal feast, a light lunch, or default snack fresh and climate controlled… Read more
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When I was a kid we planted trees by the lake 72 pine seedlings hauled north in milk cartons arranged on the back floor of a ’39 Dodge the trees and I were small, green, pliable in need of nurturing the Dodge sits now in a junkyard, the remaining pines scrape the sky I remember… Read more
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She loves me, she loves me not Played that game as a kid, for fun with and without the flower, played it frequently later, for keeps Won once or twice I have over picked my life’s quota of prophetic daisies, come out on either side of the nursery rhyme sometimes the right verse, wrong time… Read more
Ponderable polemics, poetic 