DEAD SNAKES

The Coco Butter of Winter Sally Hides my scotch from Her mother above the bar sink Where she cannot reach Near the sun screen ...

Father, Again, Peering   The final years dear Mother she was never, well, what actors call “on location.” Physically, of course,...

The Minotaur (a Tribute to W. H. Auden) A maze was not enough To daunt the truly dauntless, Those for whom the turns Were negot...

We do not put the hurricane to trial We who have lingered in the chambers  of Mr. Gregor Samsa, where he lay dead  turned int...

A night that never happened Another teary bang from an alcoholic mother Another fearful scream from her restricted throat Another ...

  RETURNING FROM WAR Rubble on country roads with an indifferent air, and sleepless disappearance you wander for miles where birds ar...

Even Green Must Go In the beginning, we have it, was the word, but in the end? In the end there may be only     a ...

Burning up the World, at least part of it Trying to make a fire, I started with wood shavings And brown pine needles, but they were ...

Tales From the Suburban Woods I am smoking a Virginia Slim just like my mother did when we were growing up- once a month, outs...

who needs the future i'll wipe away all your tears of frustration with my tongue i was always a suc...