Day #33

I wonder about how virtues, if taken to the opposite extreme actually become vices. Think about this one and see of you can relate.


a barnacle:
attached to borrowed agendas
the beck-and-call girl(hereiamsendme)
she comes:
running amiably
eagerness dripping
sweating decorum
accommodating exhaustion
considering the me left in the you of we.

Day #31

Post Nanowripo

Here is what I have discovered. You don’t try to write poetry, you don’t sit down to write poetry, you don’t attempt to write poetry, you don’t even write poetry based on a prompt.

The truth is… Poetry writes you. Every. Single. Time.

And it’s always a surprise.


i saw her shoeless come this way:
one tiny pink tennis shoe,
one tiny pink wriggling foot,
one tiny pink Jell-O shot
as the train passed by.
i hum like the train:
happy to be alive,
happy to be free,
happy to be here
as the rain falls on my skin.
i am alive(i am alive with you)
singing my newsong
on this new day.