Dead tidepool,
twilight…
mossy musk
☯️
Mountain miles,
valley tree…
two chickadees
☯️
The bag crackles
and the seal
left unbroken
☯️
The plug pulls loose
and the old man curses–
toddler-stomping
☯️
Occluded moon…
night can’t know
it’s grown colder
☯️
Squashed moths,
across the ceiling…
ancient campaigns
☯️
Frosted glass…
Amazon man at the door
looks a ghoul
☯️
Sleet clicking
off the roof
and a TV dragon
☯️
Naught to do…
fart comes out
like a four-stroke roll
☯️
I’ll pack
my insignificance back
from that desert
☯️
He tries
nailing spring rain
to the barnside
☯️
Late winter…
pillow creaks beneath my ear,
breath by breath
☯️
So dark, so clear,
bosun’s whistle…
the snow moon
☯️
Long stoplight…
biker in black, drums
on his gas tank
☯️
Seven pissings–
enough…
I flush
☯️
Gorgeous redhead
like the mayfly, really…
upon reflection
☯️
Blow out smoke
and shake your sabre–
never conquered!
☯️
Scarred boot,
vigilant
by the mailbox
☯️
Dragonfly
chased blindly
into traffic
(thanks to Phil Dyess-Nugent)
☯️
What year is this?
Ponder…
snow blows north
☯️
Pothole
half-filled, winter drizzle…
motor away
☯️
