Improvisation on a train
On a red sore train I wonder what I will leave Behind when I am gone…
On a red sore train I wonder what I will leave Behind when I am gone…
Poetry and politics make for strained companions. The politics of poets is unreliable, inclined to the…
The following poem is from my Burning Archive collection. It had its origins in a strategic…
Here is a poem of mine from about a year ago. When the wind blows from…
“The excuses we make to ourselves when we want to do something are excellent material for…
My ride is half an hour Beside me, left and right, Private conversations Blown to the…
A simple post of appreciation. What endures? What survives the oven flames? What is left behind…
After listening to an episode of the On Being podcast, titled Thinking and Friendship in Dark…
There are fragments of songs from my youth stirring. Not lyrics, but angry frustrated declamations. No…
The mind errs. My mind errs. The mind slips from its own grasp. The mind believes…