Poets in the Rain
All poets are crazy. Listen to them soak
sponge in early rain medley notes sounding off.
Jesus and How He Must Have Felt (V3)
I creak up these outside stairs
to my apartment after an all-night drunk,
cheap Tesco's Windsor Castle
London Dry Gin—on the rocks.
Most Poems
Most poems are pounded out
in emotional flesh, sometimes
physical skin scalped feelings.
My Life
My life began with a skeleton
with a smile and bubbling eyes
in my garden of dandelions.
The Redemption
I live in darkness,
the shame of those early years.
Poets Out Of Service
Who tosses loose coins in their car ashtray anymore?
iPhones, smartphones, life is a video camera
ready to shoot, destroy, and expose.
No one reads poets anymore.
Poets Die
In fall, poets stretch arms out
their spines the centerpiece
on crosses on scarecrows,
they only frighten themselves.
Juice Box Girl
somewhere stranded
someone's balcony
memories undefined,
you will find me there
stretched naked, doing
the Electric Slide,
taking morning selfies
Native I am, Cocopa (v3)
I am a mother, proud.
My native numbers are few.
In my heart digs many memories
forty-one relatives left in 1937.
Group Therapy
I’m going to lead the group tonight talking about Rational Emotive Therapy
Tequila
Single life is Tequila with a slice of lime,
Shots offered my traveling strangers.
Play them all deal them jacks, some diamonds
then spades, hold back aces play hardball,
mock the jokers.
Open Eyes Laid Back
Before long apps
will be wiping our butts
and we, others, our children
will not notice.