Poet Laundry

old country road blanket of pine needles your cheeks ruddy ------------------- my cold hand in yours warm ---...

Her skirt of scarlet pulled from the ankle; as she hastened her steps breath rose in forms of smoky blue. Stopping cold on ...

Shift ends at 8am and I look over at the clock It’s odd to me he often arrives at 9:11, post commute I try not to think abo...

russet dreams in flax and gold spun through my fingers crisp and cool and bright the mornings of disappearing mist ...

She is hiding behind black everything— hair protruding from a black hoodie, covering all but one eye. Headphones are pumping s...

Leave me to solve riddles, in the dark ruminations puzzling with pieces slipping through my fingers. They have long legs and...

I see them most every week when I’m driving. The little man with his little wife going for their afternoon stroll on the s...

Hills in August rise frozen against the setting sun a glass of chardonnay perspiring at the table of summers she doesn’t ...

through table legs painted toenails coquet the edge of denim lemon, sea salt and baby arugula eaten with fingertips ca...

watching them with her orange eyes looking through their glass house she opens the window for fresh air            her clipped ...