Old Man
Old man in a near empty house bridge port to the sea— (mortgage foreclosure assured) late in his payments to life, sits in a lavender lawn chair meant for picnics or poor people— pillows stuffed under his bum like layers of sponge cake. He sits at a handmade wooden desk he forged with his own hands finished in lacquer with the edges of his fingers tips. He types prismatic words forced together like a jagged Japanese poem or something resembling a Haiku forgery— while 2 Persian cats, Tambala and Shebelle, meow constantly with passion with pain, with hunger— bowls empty, food dried,...
Read MoreSundown, Fall
Fall, everything is turning yellow and golden. No wind, Indian summer, bright day, wind charms with Indian enchantment, last brides before winter snow, grass growth slows down, bushes cut back with chills, haven of the winter, grows legs, learns baby steps, pushes itself up slowly against my patio door, and says, “soon, soon, I’ll be there.” Winter is sweeping up what’s left of fall; making room for shorter days, longer nights. Echoes of a new season. Hear the poet reading his poem on YouTube. An embedded version is...
Read MoreCut Grass in Snow
All day long night is my storm lantern. I carry it into the farm land cutting into my harvested emotions covered by snow edging them in half in front of me see me open and bleeding. I’m seeded like a small orange pit me out and devour me spit the pulp and seed I step on the jagged edges of my feelings and sense my pain cut stretched skin with glass shavings torture under toes hurt badly with pain. Pitch the stuff with damn black top if it makes you feel relieved. Don’t laugh at me like a circus clown. I’m 61 and my dimples show smiles and crinkles. This day...
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