In chapels of opals and spice, O Pisces pal, your social pep makes you a friend to all Episcopals. Brush off lint, gentile, but it’s not intelligent to beshrew the faith of Hebrews. I heard this from a goy who taught yoga in the home of Goya. His Buddhist robe hid this budding D bust in this B movie dud. If Ryan bites a rep, a Presbyterian is best ( Read more... )

April was marching to an easy puppet beat. Slow vernal birth,
cyclical drizzle. There was little that gave much surprise:
the too-heavy hair, long with cool stars-pin pricks
in a watery bed sheet.

In a trice, the hard rain arrived (and was most unpolite).
Someone had to broadcast the warning: April isThe biennial, of course, was canceled-in its ( Read more... )

By the way, I’m writing (at least) a poem a day, and posting it on Blogger (for the time being). Feel free to visit, and comment.

6 ( Read more... )

The hand used to have to be gloved,
used to have
to be kissed, a surrogate lip.

What is naked
drifts about the body

as heaven was
placed on certain peaks,
then the sky.

Your fingertip on my palm,
o point me
where god lives.

- Christina Davis, Forth a Raven

a happiest harbinger to you: here spring ( Read more... )

How do you find yourself in literature ( Read more... )

Our lives, it seems, are a memory ( Read more... )