i've half a glass of wine
out of the previous ten
that i'd bet against all of your
empty promises
that you haven't thought of me yet
today

i know you're lying.
you're busted
when all I've ever asked for
is truth.
you're better than that.
aren't you?

Consider the potential of poetry
To free men’s probing minds,
to spill their hearts so totally.
The power of the verse reminds
that the stringing of mere syllables
can transform lowly language
into something greater than itself.
I equate it to a miracle.
That despite time’s passage
poetry can give such a true sense of self.

She majored in English,
studying Chaucer and
breaking down Yeats.
Surrounding herself with
words, words, words-
Hers and everyone else’s.

Perhaps she should have
majored in something more
useful like “World Peace” or
“Apocalypse Evasion”?

I guess she’ll just
have to make do with those
words, words, words-
Hers and everyone else’s.

punct.u.a.tion is
language,
all its own; words

form-
lessly formed
dripp-ing,

drop on the
page-- Images… Imagines… Imaginations
laced with

Sarcasm

and

rhythmy
rhymes and often-sometimes-maybe emjamb-

ment.