don’t cry for us argentina. the truth is we chose ignorance and embraced cruelty out of fear that our boasts were as empty as our heart.
we fear the people who love their guns more than we love our children.
the atheist prays every day to gods she finds incomprehensible:
Remove the sticks of destruction from our arsenals and minds.
I’ve been slowly moving my poetry into position on this site. There may be scraps left in some corner of the hard drive, but the task is essentially done.
There were curious and inexplicable bursts and equally unexplained lapses.
burns a bridge the night long, this heat retards bitterness and cold yellow-red flickers illuminate, but dimly even in that moment fleeting but wonders he later wherefore the stench and who has shut the road again.
i wonder what it is like
to swing from a rope of my own
making; pulled out of my…
as it were,
hoping some unsuspecting fly
by night nibbles on the line i’ve cast