1:58 p.m.

boastful consonants
outnumbering the vowels
but are never sung

Sunday Commute

chips of yellow flame
are thrown to the sky, they fall
fluttering applause

Saturday Commute

willows bend their heads
over ditches, bleaching out
their long summer hair

Staring at the Japanese maples in the courtyard at work

these rounded heads wait
for wind to jut a jaw and
flip their muppet hair

Hallowku, 11:50 p.m.

the last lone vulture
has swallowed the carrion
moon; its belly shines

Waterfalls on the Bridge

First identify
targets, then recalibrate
love's trajectory

1:58 pm

this maplestreet laughs
shaking its yellow belly
welcoming me home

Inlet Crossing

sinking, the sun flailed
and left its burning thumbprint
on our sullen sky

6:50 p.m.

purple is leeching
leaving only lilac in
our scrubbed canopy

You'd think he'd be more sympathetic to a recent flyer

my throaty raven
he sings a song of gunfire
at 7 a.m.