Trimming the Fat

I would like to carve out
a portion of the day
like turkey dinner.
The meaty part of the afternoon
with its sizzling paleness.
Its overdone warmth.
Chuck it right out for other
to feast on.



My City

A place of stairwells and stone rivers.
Of bridges lit up in police siren blues.
A city of bells,
of rumbling metal worms.
A city of moss and poppy flowers.



You are a figment of someone’s imagination.
Pale and threading,
with the effort to keep from fading.
Running words from
one side
of your mouth
to the other.,
typewriter clicking its jaw together
in search of the next sentence.

poet's biography —>