in the garden of Eden
sundial, of stone and bronze, wasting, weathered green, measurer of time in years; doomed to erode; and YET, the iris comes but for days, yet …
tween the heart and NYC
only love poems +other complaints; “that poetry hath chosen me, if correct, woe-betide me, this be more curse than blessing, for the secrecy of love …
M/Ant-hard-ica
she inquires why I write so many poems, easy comes reply: It gives me a fantastic living, it makes and gives, each poem, a calculation, …
on a bus near you...
eye am a recording devicespecial filters of my own prejudice. eye live in various bus stops where punctuation of life moments need not be, are …