Monthly Archives: April 2017

They Don’t Howl No More

I saw the greatest words of my generation wasted, strunked and white wrung out with punctuation dying a slow txtng death   Used in minor+myopic+ progressive+political+positions, smoking unfiltered vowels and whoring themselves out to uniformly avante garde literary publishers.   … Continue reading

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Dear Morning Bring Me an Ironing Board

No need for an iron to press my shirt Only tea, with milk I do not drink small room six people dress eat pop tarts and tie shoes   America is always late hurry, don’t forget your books I’ll have … Continue reading

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From Some Tree this Hidden Calf (trying to escape Poe’s Raven)

  Waits and bleats and shadows brown dappled in darkness I hear it call   a cry, but a cry without hope in the tradition of a beast, whose ancestors know only slaughter.   There is surely a rope or … Continue reading

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Something There Is (or The Mending Wall)

After Frost, the poet, not weather, I built a circle wall, or rather spiral all to come to mend, wall, themselves to walk both sides and agree it makes good neighbors.   Something there is that loves a wall to … Continue reading

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Seven-Thirty Sunset

As grandmother and toddler turn to home, the Hispanic boy with gold necklace runs through a back yard and the Haitian girl tosses a worn brown basketball to her nephews   life flows out onto the narrow streets of Lake … Continue reading

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This looks like a poem, more or less, but….

How Modern a Creek, Then? The boy, careful to lay the rifle down, pointing away looking in the bed of copper leaves, layered upon layer, for signs of a snake for which the rifle was carried, then leaning in, belly … Continue reading

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