poem thirty seven.

she has an array of dying potted plants in the kitchen i presume they are kept around for their sentimentality rather than their looks they are wilted brittle don’t touch them you might break a...

poem thirty six.

my view out the 3 series window the desert gallops to mountains peppered with plants interrupted by truck-lane semis grooves running with us each a racetrack for ants how big the world seems from there i imagine my view extending to the blue and white swirl with angry...

poem thirty four.

bad batch of lids soda streams flow from soda rivers with mini icebergs melting and strewn on the floor of your favorite place global warming is in your backyard too