Letter to an Estranged Middle-Aged Son
The older I get the more I realize
the importance of getting things done
before your mother announces another
assignment to roust me from my hammock.
As you know I’ve never been
Poetry
Concept for some pieces of art
First piece
A red telephone box, in a library
In the box a cell phone
Second piece
A telephone box made of cell phones, in a library
In the box a telegraph machine
the coming fire
each night we see
a shifting flicker
in a house
down the street
the owner traverses
his rooms
lugging butane
and cleaning bleach
in a biohazard waste bin
the blinds are down
but
Navigator
Nothing else to do, they take a drive
to nowhere in particular, but away
from the suburbs. The car, at first,
protests from its deep chill within, but
slowly, assuredly, finds comfort
in
The Falling Star of the Self
When short forms are everywhere, from Facebook to Twitter, everyone fancies
themselves a minor poet. Social media has provided the form, and now the content
of poetry skews towards a celebration of the