Poetry

Regressionlends itselfto regret, asthe knifeidlyeasespast the crowd that satisfiedhis wandering ways for many a days into your chest cavity,a souvenir for a time no longer rememberedas the ready-steadyhollowthump of the

Upon learning of some friends’ loss of their child, we come dangerously close to THE TALK: Oh…but where do babies come from?      Well, when a man and a

I journey back through the past few pages, and wonder: “Where do I come up with this stuff?”

Sailor’s shanties like a siren’s songcompelling you:Cast yourself upon the rocks.The old albatross is tossed                                                                                                                                                about, by wind and wave. He reaches up like his father before himthough no child

I meander through the aisles, absent from the task at handand the list you’ve meticulously scrawled for me on the back of an envelope.I neglect the SPAM and the Hamburger

Dove done gone pecked out mah eyes an’ made nests outta tha sockets. ‘at’s why ah cain’t see straight. Well, that, an’ tha pigtails you been pullin’ an’ takin’ off