support

in my ear
a voice keeps reciting
this poem

monotone like a
mantra

"we are still experiencing
heavy call
volume.

we apologize for the
inconvenience.

you may find the
information you need
on our web site.

please continue to
hold for the
next available agent."

winter, almost

a dire prognosis

like a terminal disease

waiting for the snow

in memory of hayden carruth (to honor stacy)

stacy's "best poem ever" reminded me of this
gem by hayden:

"the last poem in the world"

would i write it
if i could?

you bet your glitzy
ass i would!

all over the world

been all over the world
today,

all over the world, never even
left town,

the holiday season, too much
traffic on the road,

wouldn't want to risk an accident
(especially if you've had a little
something to drink).

got an email from a friend in
mexico,

drew me right in with his
descriptions of

warmth and strangeness and
senoritas and
possibilities.

that's somewhere else.

does that count?

Mole Skin Musings on Work, a Short Poem

blank stare
wide eyed indifference
forced exhuberance

DWC

About me because I can't talk about her.

I had six days in one day and am trying to compress it down. I think it'll probably boil down into 2-3 more poems. wanted to make it one long one, but it's late and the day's not over yet. there's some good stuff, but I don't want to blow it. I've probably already fucking wrecked it. welcome rick.


All day my
shoulders seemed much thinner. I
cast less shadow. I
disappeared in
shady places.
I got drunk as I could off
$30 in a fake Mexican
restaurant. I took the
four lane to the two lane and
pissed in 2 cornfields and at
the edge
of one cemetery. Passed
the last grain trucks of
the season. Found my way
to Winamac through highways and
towns I don't know (still pretty
drunk). Not to say that
I'm proud. Just trying to
keep up with the
terrible everywhere.
I think I was still on the
clock. Drove past
a wholesaler I bought
impatiens off ten
years ago. To find what
in Winamac waiting
for me?
Last week a boy
took an overdose
in my friend's house. They
talk like I was
supposed to save
the kid.
He's still not buried.

Daylight savings. It's dark
here at six. I
don't understand what
we're saving the light for.

brief introduction

a blog for poets
awesome possibilities
i'll try to fit in

haiku seasonal

i

grey heavy wet clouds
cold damp wind cuts through my soul
glasses fog with rain

ii

leaves become colored
bright against the gun metal sky
they crunch as i walk

iii

time slows down falls back
pumpkins decorate porches
little ghosts spook me

DWC

blue skies for cold days

part i
this city is alive
with the day of
the dead

i think

watching from
two stories
up:

a princess and a witch
hold hands to cross
the street

(having no
part in old fairy
tales)

joining a group
of ghouls and
presidents and
superheroes

to a similar
end

part ii
but it is autumn
now and winter
hereafter

i think

there will be
blue skies for
cold days

and radiators that
hiss like spring
rainstorms

to bookend the
day

was shalott better
than this? i wonder,
standing to take
one long, last
look out of the
window —

and close the
blinds