Poetry

God wish were I a poet Then would I sing the stars My every thought formed golden My farts canned dear in jars I’d be pompous I’d be stuffy I’d bask aglow in my littered lane I’d be wicked on how I’d suffer I’d sigh whisper curse and blame Locked doors my way would open Charms my way befall My heart would lie still frozen My soul a cold and vacant hall Young bodies next to mine would lie Old fingers dry and bare Men half my age but old enough... [more>

Young Willi Miracle Silver-vizored, gauntleted Roaring down the freeway The wind in his nose and his throat High-buckled to his neck and ox-leather overcoat Stars at his elbows Black lighting his hair Willi at the truckstop Drinking beer with Pachelbel Back losers eacy way Has taken no lessons from life Sharp-bladed in his pocket a pearlhandled... [more>