No self respecting poem wants to hang with me. As I’m apt to slap that poesy into the ether too early, still gasping, and all agog at anxious afterthought alterations. A bespoke joke birthing an interior punch-line rhyme, way before delivery time. Because juncture is the jive. That toot sweet hive be honey. Muse money. Currency.
Dark Light

Doesn’t Pare

Doesn’t Pare No longerA mid-morningOr an early eveningNor a late afternoon lunchWith a before sunset scotch I imbibe…

Vaulting

Vaulting There’s no feelingLike no feelingSorta double dealingMaybe But babyWhen there is no ceilingHow low can you goIs…

K-9 …K- reverse k- K

K-9 …K- reverse k- K This autumnAlready an afterthoughtfraught with store-boughtlikeill-health inflationIs gonna nix any staringInto the eyes…

Breaking Breath Taking

Breaking Breath Taking It’s evening and your gonnaHave to forgive my breathing…The wheezing Right It is an atmosphere…