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You can access Workz from previous TGAP iterations here.

Gut Punch in the Grocery Lane ~ a Golden Shovel after Margaret Atwood Cannot get my hand to my heart in time to be useful every time the surge that I have lost you punches my gut. It is the way now, and only sleep connects us in a world full of failure. An old woman with a cart of strange vegetables and this memory. “To be lost in only a failure of memory.”

Stones in Pocket ~for MM Always the possibility lurks large when you have had enough of this earth this nightmare & magic tragic days to luminous nights fight to keep the inspo baby TikTok promises and AI therapy jump off the tallest building a rooftop bar with a pool over sidewalks and urine hot pink morning sky offers some sort of promise and you take the granite chunk out to save for another

Vocabulary Lesson Her poems unlocked words, Hidden in a vault, yet perfect to name the now. A World blanketed in conflagration - in all ways of the word. So to speak. So to write. Encourage all to prevaricate. Keep the bitterest words in the windpipe. Warm, moist, safe, and festering. Ballooning in the larynx. One does not want to be fired - burned like whole villages in California. Enflamed like the rash on my heart, itching more with every thrust.

Cages Slither in no place To be your glass tank Prison. Coiled corner, A false heat stone - victims Dropped from god hands above - Also trapped and doomed. Put a jail in every corner. Add unnatural death. Jail-keeper imprisons To feel powerful. Tombs Of mice left to cannibalism. A gecko that scales walls In a tiny moonlit lodge, Hoping for a patch of leftover Lettuce sky. Raptors Field day. Benson’s Auction. Monsters escape; Clear the room.

TEA & MEMORIES China teacups, lined up like sentries, Guarding ancestral stories. Jack teaching his grandchildren We are made to be well. Emily passing on her baking skills And slipping us mad money. Amber liquid spilling into a saucer From tremors in what were once such strong hands. Memories spilling over me With every cup I drink. The feeling of being safe. Cherished. Loved. I wouldn't trade them For all the tea in China.

The canine crooner, the "I" in "You and I and George", everyone's favorite furry pianist-- it's... Rowlf!

Who Needs These Stories There is a reason teachers are Some of the first to go; Vilified in the Propagandist’s artistry. Power is so good at lying. And Poets, well, deny a visa or Cut off a hand. Forget Poetry is an oral art. Songs, Silence them. Buy up the media Conglomerates and fire The comedians or disappear Them. Fascism hates Art for all the Right reasons. It Is the anti-propaganda. Logic to undo the emotional Wreckage and pull Feeble minds from the fire.

Gonzo!