Friday…
ginseng tea
roiling gray

☯️

That gray
holds the line…but surrenders
to the black

☯️

A hole left
by the rain; bum
throws up a goal post

☯️

Seven o’clock…
blank steno pad
by the bus stop

☯️

Day won’t turn…
stars strain to shine
on the plough

☯️

The madman
and the fact
of a yellow blinker

☯️

Faceless…
one hand taps; one finger
beckons

☯️

In that moment
must we wait…
baby’s first cry

☯️

Last day of work…
a song to herself
between vapes

☯️

That evergreen…
the best (really)
we can hope for

☯️

Bird in a barn,
soaked from the storm…
straw ticks

☯️

The war
lost; I just have time
to look over

☯️

To seek one thing–
sweetness…
life half over

☯️

Summer break…
janitor and wasp
share the gym

☯️

Monday…
fruit fly
and a filthy window

☯️

Monday…
a hole left
by the rain

☯️

Stone masks,
sullen…
wait out the storm

☯️

Plum wine spilled
on the sand…
thirsty tide

☯️

I’m having…
having…having…
so exhausted

☯️

Sex,
sweaty socks…
June light dies

☯️

Hardpan…
he puts the plants in
with a hammer

☯️

Sea tongues
lick the ice cream
of her curls

☯️