my car was towed on a Tuesday “Street Cleaning” says the harbinger, a sign crudely zip-tied to a weathered wooden pillar like some prisoner of war; no-man’s-land, the empty space in front of my apartment,

I had buried the sun into the earth, the moon, nestled tight in clouded dream, my cat left curled before the hearth next to a displaced pot of cooling tea. A hooded lantern and wrinkled staff held by hands

There is a curdle of cheese curdling into smaller beady-eyed mice beneath the benevolent hallow girth of my practicing God, a minimalist fridge.                 It is raining outside, the soft pitter-patter

A small bird is perched on the askew lid of a trashcan, an outpouring of love and use in the alley behind my apartment where I set food for stray cats. Eye me sideways, I am the bird – I whistle a call,

been walking slower of late letting eyes linger like snow in April keeping pace with kicked stones, Sisyphus is not in my thoughts; do we inscribe trees with our dreams so they may live forever even when

Models Hold the Paint for Bus Stop Graffiti Icons Don't follow fashion buy something already out of date. April 3rd, the note on a carton of eggs; a dancing cartoon fox fleeces a boy peering through a

Blue lines stretch coursing blood through firmament pencil sketches, guided hands thumbing through the tabbed void opening spines and blotting, two dimensions clasped, unclasping three, reveal the thump

They grow layers of life without you, a chthonic mark to imprint, a sessile archaism reserved for tenure probing dusty tomes or tactile pen pressed against lips. They grow layers of life within you, an

no one understands                                                 the end of winter                                                 quite like                                                 a well scuffed

To support Caleb's surviving family, his wife Jen and two children, Sydney (7) and Desmond (10) with funeral expenses, visit the fundraiser created for the family linked here. An outpouring of love, grief

We are all puzzles, hands fumbling at crooked lines mouthing a smile out an alligator jaw; your knee, bent like cubes crooked or diamonds spilling from your mouth, tumbling over line breaks or spineless

I could force a sound             accepting yawp             or barbaric sigh             the most compelling             of human experience             standing in a line             the pothole path

Smudges and Smears       The newspaper is illegible: serif crop circle smudges from heaven;                   'Good Morning:             Nothing Has Changed' A reassurance hangover sprawled at every threshold,

the blue flower springs splitting caulk and brick like a chisel hammer striking steel, blue with clouds hanging from creaky wooden rafters cobblestones polished by shoes and the spittle of senile time

Liberty cracked the bell peals appealing to silver peddlers propping poems on the sill propping a canary to fetters feathers litter the ground inside the golden cage, children crowd around children fade

A flower petal graces a plate, a spot of color at the center of your eye finds a center in the white, pupil reflecting a plated petal. welcome to atlanta... Written for free-verse poetry maven @d-pend's

there is a chicken carcass in the alley, a lost ugly ducking who tumbled off the pallet into a bed of satin, frail dog on a kneeler, sun stain around the neck where a belt once said 'Waldo'. inspired by

Check into the room promptly throw your key away, swallow all your pride before asking for free toiletries, hand-outs and needles in the alley-way. Bagels by the door for the curious passerbyer, expired

The moon stalks the stars, high heeled pacing contrarian, whips a strapped sun behind closed curtains; candle wax dripping, wiping splinters from our eyes; safe word: our point of origin, all of us are

I write your name, a mark on the proverbial chalkboard, a self-imposed discipline or a natural selection, reaction; a line of chalk erased away in a cloud of carcinogenic smoke or frantic, a fever malaise