Bug no bigger than a comma scales the wall next to my recliner. He’s climbing
I told my wife the other night when she came back to bed my feet were cold so now’s the time for me to tell her not to bury me or burn me
On Saturday mornings several bowed citizens gather on the sidewalk outside the clinic to read the Bible and pray.
The scruffy old man and his white poodle on a long red leash were neighborhood icons years ago down at the corner
Day and night preachers hawk the Message of the Cross on television. Once a month they pause and beg for money for
I will never forget him but I can’t remember his name it’s been so long ago. Maybe I never knew it. But I think of him on days
Were she here with me now, by the waist I would raise her, a chalice of wonder. I’d bellow hosannas and whirl her around,
Three are known by name, Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, but there are a zillion angels, pure spirits who have no wings like those we draw on Cherubim,
Her corded belt python tight around a tiny waist makes her blooms bigger brighter as they unfold
Hearts are stopping faster than usual among people I know and people I don’t married to other people
Sometimes she sits there and listens to him. Sometimes he sits there and listens to her. Sometimes they know
Fred visits Bill every month at the facility he’s been in for year… Age and booze brought Bill there. He’s still strapped to his bed so he can’t go wandering again
You think he’d be more grateful. Neither rich nor poor he’s never wanted for anything. He’s always had what he needs but never had any gratitude
Sometimes an egg comes out of a chicken Sometimes a poem comes out of a title Sometimes a chicken
Paul’s not a veteran of Vietnam but he goes there in his dreams to watch his brother Tim walk in hazy streams sprayed with Agent Orange before he
