Category Archives: poems & short jabs

a bed cluttered with bears

A Bed Cluttered with Bears


So many kisses to give,
so much memory to burnish.
So many wrong turns
in the labyrinth.
So much grit
in my
pounding red heart,
quick-bitten nails.
So much promise
& entrapment,
so much
accidental freedom.


A pillow over
a tooth
is my idea of
wild dreams
full of
tooth fairies
in a bed
cluttered with

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a salute to new years past

A Salute to New Years Past


The work
knocks it
out of
you the
zero weather
knocks it
out of
you poseurs
of greatness
knock it
out of
you age might
play a
small part in
knocking it
out of you
you lie
down at
2 p.m. on
New Year’s
Eve &
when you
open your
eyes again you
think you’ve
slept the
old year
away but
no it’s
4:20 in
the afternoon
& you’re
on your
feet &
into the
catch a
double mocha
on the
run &
make the
hill with
almost no
light left in
the sky–
thank God
for the
Winter Solstice
that’s been
kicked a
week into the
past now.


On the
way out
the door
you snatch
a letter
from an
ex-wife you
open it
light a
take a
swig from
your mocha
the light is
almost gone
the motor’s
running with
the heat on
in the
letter is a
“Publishers lose
grip on
gate” the
heading reads
salt in
the wound
on a
cold winter’s
day something
that’s not
exactly news
to a
writer who
came into
his own a
few decades
too late.


The sky
is falling!

The light
is failing!

I’m devoid of

I pick up
John Henry’s
hammer &
drive a
spike thru
the heart
of an

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time smudge

Time Smudge


The ex
chief of
police from
years ago
just sat
down in
a booth
with his
wife across
the crowded


Back then
I called
him a
when he
tried to
bust me
for pissing
on my
own back
tire after
bars closed.


Now we
wave across
crowded restaurants
& call
each other
by our
first names.

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zen off the drawing board

Zen Off the Drawing Board


It’s good out here
in the back yard–
a purple cottage,
a gray garage,
a red and yellow
front house,
meandering cats &
two picnic tables.
Things could have
turned out worse.


I’ve got a wheelbarrow,
a rake & a
brown picket fence,
a can of
tobacco a
pot of coffee.
This that &
the other thing
need fixing, but
I’m in coast mode.
I did everything
just right to
wind up here,
& with a
little luck I’ll
slide into death
followed closely by
the whole human race.

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what’s scary

What’s Scary


What’s scary
isn’t when
people who
walk around
with their
cell phone
plugged into
one ear
& their
i-pod with
songs on it
plugged into
the other,
what’s scary
is when
these people
tell me
I’m putting
them on
by sending
them a
Shard a

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box canyon mustangs

Box Canyon Mustangs


I have a good ten
book titles
kicking around,
I need to start
herding poems
their way,
but they’re an
unruly lot,
the poems,
the moment they see
the lasso swinging
at my side they
rise up like
Box Canyon Mustangs &
thunder off,
their eyes wide &
their ears back.


Box Canyon Mustangs!
Another book title!
Over this way
I coax,
but they paw
the earth &
toss their heads,
filling me
with fierce love.

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