Confession And once I was a millionaire of river bank and darkened air. At age of eight I’d contemplate— not contemplate, but radiate
A SONNET FOR ONE NO LONGER HERE I am so very tired of grim tombstones, Meaningless names and dates, flowers as dead As the ones
Another Goodbye Look: my windblown self, laid open, or, another insolent word like the wing of that crested bird rephrased and tossed aside, broken.
LOW DOWN HAIKU BITTERSUITE  i. Microbiophobia  During pre-COVID, precocious an asset; now pre-cautious preferred. Masked, we insisted all kids still stalked