Is it?


Not A Shoe In The Sky

I write down words so maybe I will write down words, on a northeasterly zephyr in lemon sour sky…

no need to ration your poems about poetry and how art is dead in a midnight veil you can’t seem to

make a rhyme count, make the one two punch spiked in only one swing an endless ribbon of a

has-been Poetess.

No more new scars.

The Fluffy Maiden

Made up of idealism
fluffy maiden?

Thou art so fair when you
circle ’round there, tearing up the

rusty dirt, the soil of good sir mockery
making all things flockery

feather v’s to frosty night.

Just like others, a maiden’s plight

zeros and 1s making history of the messy scene

sorry old concept aged like wine in a fine time
of fright and compromise

cast a crown shadow, crossing the meadow
maiden breath blue frozen air

with the last phrase of winter on good sir’s tongue.

Forgetting Coffee

Forgetting coffee

having purchased this and that like a girl with money and

forgetting coffee

like the world could spin passed chunks of space sighing without the coffee

and my ankle hurts my ankle always hurts as parts of me are rotting right now as I am

forgetting coffee

got my new mug got carried away as body aches like I’m twice my age I must be because

forgetting coffee.

My smallest problem is forgetting the coffee.

Hmmm. I’m really blessed for

forgetting coffee.

Curing Gifts

the words well remembered you
rolled down the window in my AM
only Ford Mustang and
flicked a spent smoke
looking for the 5-0
thinking that time’s a line
that never ends with my hand
resting on the gear shift
your hand drifts and joins
control over blue metal America
made dream machine

we were the shit in that car

Meg’s House That Time

Pretending to be drunker than you are, the popular girl pushes with her

grandiloquent words and toast haired Catholic school lassies gettin’

sassy over Natty Ice and tight rolled joints of dirt weed,

redemption from the drug dealer in Cambridge that

the blond bitch and I tried to pirate that time

me laying on the horn, flaxen hair female slipping out the back and

we never put out for drugs or documented our sins.

at least I never did.