sing a song of offense, a pocket full of wry -- four-and-eighty buzzwords flaked in the sky you wonder at the purpose a poem wants to bring, but isn't that our malady, to think before we sing?

Yesterday’s Dock

As time comes back in waves, She stands on yesterday’s dock: But hearts don’t know of time, And grief doesn’t own a clock

Short Fellow

Out on the guided missile tour, The pillaged pithy stands; The path, a mighty mezzanine, A haunted shadowlands, And you and I were past the place Where couples even try To ransom back their courtesy Or interstratify

may or may not

morning in the evening happening in mourning lying in the sunlight perjury suborning wooden frame and rickets wouldn't you remember taking in the tickets halfway to november

I Grew Up in a Rut…

I grew up in a rut, It’s all we could afford; There wasn’t that much traffic, though, And though we never soared We learned to love the cool, cool mud, Though yeah, a few things sucked: Like all the noise and pressure from The family being Trucked

{ nobody remembers anything right }

the rainbow’s end is never found, that wondrous sight that none can view, since it is found within a place where credit given matches credit due

{ where the course is run }

It’s not about control, or somehow optimizing relationships through processes.Instead, it’s realizing that human people, all of us, are flawed, imperfect creatures, and that the course is run out on the road, not in the bleachers

{ mismatched love }

when love’s mismatched two people see the same things rather differentlywhat feels to one like life’s new birth, feels to the otherdrudgery you learn both sides of mismatched love, and see how wide feelings can swing: while one feels nothing,not at all,the other, almosteverything