7.30.16

Weekend words for you. I wrote this at a winery, and after taking a photo of my original, left it there. Not really poetry terrorism, since I wasn't forcing anyone to consume it, but still a brave act for me. Who knows, they probably recycled it.




7.23.16

Divested of dreaming

I wake in an air of omens.

Tired of carrying, I pour wine out

with my poems.

We forget to lock eyes and admit

we share the same burdens.

My comings and goings don’t match

the depth of my urging;

Coated with words that are liquid

in what they furnish.

Waking each day I hope for a hope

that can grow,

Stained cups on the counter are

all my work shows.