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Bad Heart

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You died from a bad heart.

Letter for K.

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the kind of thing that begins with a fist


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walk into a cave

Of Tongue and Cheek

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Our beautiful currencies and stamps/ disappear into the digital vortex/ of accelerated appetites.

Never Talking to You Again

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everything becomes an excuse


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about killing

Legs and Mirrors

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I don’t want to be touched when I’m upset.

Notes for a Life. In a Swing. No Wind to Speak of.

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Somewhere a banjo, somewhere a hound.


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“Easter’s coming,” my wife says. “Should I dress as a bunny or a chicken?” she asks. She means for the costume party.

Three Letter Word for Grief

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He wants me to squawk words at him in the middle of the night.

Testament (complete)

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Their nouns are few and stark./ Ours are numerous and dappled/ or subtly shaded and shadowed/ by circumstance and possibility.

She spread her legs and flew away

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His unconscious sister on the floor, an emaciated mutt giving him the eye, and discreet piles of shit everywhere. Time to save the dog.

Nice Dream

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They must love me.

A Nun Walks Into A Library...

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Library life is full of surprises.

The Tease

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She was sick and tired of marriage. She didn't want to be a mother, but now she was.

Purple Gel Tab

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When you collapse, fall in my stupid direction Or: if I say, you're the chosen one, do something shiny

The City Rises in Me

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What's a road? A swift excuse / for a city at each end.


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pretending to be lifeless


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...He steps back from the abyss, inner eye envisioning the ink sip of a fountain pen, the hard, hot brain frenzy that sends phrases marching toward another bridge between oblivion and art.

Drunk Sonnet for Meg Tuite

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perjured like a fickle impulse

Blessing the Blossoms

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Not all will be fruit and yet you are intoxicating,seductive, seed gone to seed.You try for the prizeand I am with you dreaming.And who am I to bless you?Who am I not to bless you?What if it were my only reason for being?

Corporal Punishment

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When I was a little boy, I had a thing about women’s behinds.

Faith, Hope, and Charity

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She wears three or four tattered sweaters on cool days. She pushes a basket borrowed from a grocery store. There is a plastic lawn bag in the basket with God knows what inside.

Sweetie and Jack

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Let's walk through this park. We can talk until dark. You have the look of a wolf. I'm not stupid, Jack. I'm a lamb, you'll see, once you get to know me. That tat is fierce and your leathers tight black. My ink is old and black suits me, I'm told. …

The Boy Who Knew Death

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As the sun rose each morning, so did the lonely old man with it; a sad limping figure strolling across the front lawn with a cigar tucked in his mouth, lighting fresh candles here and there, perhaps on an imagined grave of some loved one long lost to the infirmity of time…

Low-Country Squirrel

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Maddy knew how to make a sauce. It embraced the meat in a thick, buttery ooze.

Hot Lava Carpets

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"The carpet's hot lava," my son cries, pointing at the ground from the sofa."Yeowch!" I say, leaping next to him.We sit together for a moment, silently contemplating our predicament."We need to get downstairs," I tell him. He nods, but does not move. He stares at the hot…

Sad Songs

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She was thrilled when she learned that her best friend was having an affair.

The Chance of Rain

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I'm still working on this. I'm always open to your thoughts.


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board games invented by florists / beachcombers drunk at the drive-in