Most recent stories

Blow Me

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The list of things to live for/ shortens with age. The list of regrets/ lengthens.

Puppet X, 4

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I'm not a practicing angel, ladies and gentlemen Got these penny wings out of boredom I need to know that black and grey place inside an angel where you bow your head, when a puppet forgets himself, when a man learns how smal

white mouth

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...lying there across my vision, a cereal grain pours through the window...


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From This Distance

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Can you remember now? How we could each disappear completely, connected despite fault lines. . . .

Wait room

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It was Saturday morning."The coffee maker is not ready yet," said one of the old men. Like the present company, his form was swollen with mismatched layers of cold weather wear.It was a white room with a dozen men, three couches, and a large screen television flickering…

I Am Not Like All The Rest: Funny Lines From Online Dating Profiles

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After becoming single at age 62, I joined an online dating site. After a year of perusing profiles and meeting men for coffee, staying single is starting to look better and better to me. But I've stayed on the site, in part for the pure enjoyment of…

Winter Queen

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Love is

Line break drill

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You can say that again!


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I come here, to this very spot for a reason. Imagine — the illusion of knowing what is and is not. The contentment drops taste — one could suppose — like that.

“Kait” the homo sapien

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I am an animal on display in an old fashioned zoo - trapped & violent, violent, violent

Patriarchy: First Song of Despair

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It is not our fault

Afton Mountain

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fog settles over the mountain laying a ghostly blue shroud

We're Still Here

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the beeps, rhythmic, tell us that you're still with us

consolations from Cold Mountain

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not otherwise employed, writing verse,/ line by tenuous line the substance of pulse./ ―but no one collects unemployed verse:/ self-lacerations must yield blood, not ink.


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The train station offers a pleasant atmosphere, though it exists as an in between place. People only come here to go somewhere else.


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I'm not plagued with high levels. Must be all the raking I do. My pubes look as lush as my hair, so fire isn't even a concern. Maybe heat exhaustion is.This might be a poem,My oceans aren't small.

Morning Thoughts (6)

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When melancholy ...

In Darkened Caves

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There’s the Farmer’s Market In the pouring rain There’s the streets all Filled with pain We used to sit in darkened caves Singing to each other We sat in the darkened halls And chewed upon our brothers We once invented painting By

Thanksgiving, 2018

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The cornbread for dressing cools./ The cranberries boil with one cup each/ of sugar and water. The aromas are nice

In Love With Myself

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Girl With a Typewriter Mouth

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The Girl with a typewriter mouthhad a body like a single sheet of blank white paper. I wasobsessed with the Beatles, she tellsme. Well, there are worse things to beobsessed with, I tell her. No, shesays, I mean REALLY obsessed. Oh,is all I can think to reply to…

four haiku

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years later ghosts enter. . . .


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the shape only adhering


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Those resting in clusters of bones, Cradled in ashes of what once were homes.

Hospice Valediction

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youthful pin oaks grant solemn attention to the aluminum gurney


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Didn't usually go to the parade because it was long and cold But only a few blocks from the apartment Maybe if the sun had warmed all up some

Desire: First Love Poem

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Desire trumps wisdom.

The United States Of Ammunition

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I check the NPR news app. The story about the shooting in Pittsburg has already been pushed off the homepage. There is an article about yellow fever in the 14th century, a potential ceasefire in Yemen, players protesting the national anthem, a plane crash