I saw a monk today,
tending a zen garden
  on the edge of Comm. Ave.

Wearing a neon jacket
  atop a humble mountain
range of swollen shoulders

He raked the asphalt
over an anonymous crater.
  jelly, soothing a cracker
on the curb.

I am sure ( Read more... )

1I dream constantly ( Read more... )

Can I borrow a pair of scissors ( Read more... )

It is a strange day when tadpoles of poetry do not wiggle their tails and flap their gills in the slimy canals that connect all one thousand of my senses ( Read more... )

I am exhausted ( Read more... )

These are our rolling hills ( Read more... )

I believe at heart ( Read more... )

Uncle John ( Read more... )

Mornings found ( Read more... )