poetry

June 24, 2016

Useless. The good word cannot make

morning beget another take

on mourning.

June 22, 2016

The pollen could be mere coincidence—
traces left by a prehistoric rat
that ate flowers near the grave—

June 3, 2016

you imagine them. Under the imported palms

shading the car port. A dark rumor

spread across your lawn. Inside, you turn

May 25, 2016

Forecasts say prepare for rain, so you will—
will keep at the ready tarp and cord, tents

and candles. And you will drink to the gulls
circling and the May sun high above rocks

Photo by Mary Aherne

June 16, 2016

Cliff Forshaw transposes DanteInferno to Hull, England. 

March 9, 2016

But why did the chicken leave its roost? How did the chicken lay a golden egg? What were the chicken bones doing in the trash?

February 26, 2016

It’s our bread and butter; take a look-see.

Behold the man who can stand on one finger,

the amazing boy who can eat anything.

February 6, 2016

Never again will I feed the mustangs my mind,
Outstretched in the grey moon of morning.

January 13, 2016

Came a homeless man, without a foot,
dressed up in a new canvas sack,
tied up with a belt in the usual style

December 30, 2015

Honor the grit, the skylight plywood,
The attic rats and wall roaches.
Greet the vagrant dwellers walking. . .

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