Spume It is all contaminated memory, a Book Of the Damned. Atrocities absorbed And then disposed. A rise to the surface. How Grief, once She forces Herself In, never really leaves - has a, perhaps, Le
Time Sucks How quickly I lose my love As the pieces of it drop Down like micro mirrorballs; Tiny sparkles floating down and shattering On the roller rink floor.
Love the World You’re In When you read poems in the am, You are guaranteed To cry before noon; Life a spoon serving All of it to you. Cereal to Crunch and pop, Snap and crackle. Someone else’s widowed
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