Month: September 2017

Tomorrow’s dirty, too

You find these moments,

at the end of the day,

that should ‘knit-up’

and coalesce.

… but they don’t.


I sit here,

in the dark,

gently letting down

the remainder

of the day.

I will pretend

that this day

was unique

to me

and therefore


… but….

The world has no shortage

of assholes

and so I bear

no misgivings

about myself.



I’m Chris….

On the porch (but they don’t wave)

“Look at the clouds,”

he said,

his head tilted back,

and his hand

shading his eyes.

“They’re so white. ”

This didn’t need any explanation,

so none was offered.

We returned our focus

to our drinks

and let the awkwardness

consume us.

It was comforting.

The rhymers

I have a problem with the rhymers, it

is something in their prose;

it’s a thing to which they won’t admit,

but I think it’s on the nose.

The metric of the meter provides

a rigid cage for them

to push and shove and fit inside

the words to match their whim.

These rules once set and locked

lay out the path ahead

but I see it as creatively blocked

as the rhyme by the nose they are led.

So free verse truly appeals to me,

my own path I must cut and make,

the rhymers say it lacks discipline, see

I think more discipline it takes.