My Poems

whoever came up with the idea that communication could be an art was probably identifiably genius. and died young

to Will B., with much laughter and many smiles

Roof Ramble 

I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth
in hopes that the spider will hear me out
though you can’t get a scar from a single thread
and you can’t sit down on a spider web.

whoever I was that blossom day
was small enough to fear the dewdrop spray
was large enough to fear the weight of the sky
thru big red hectic spider eyes

I remember that the end was sad
I remember that the milk went bad
I remember about my donkey too
and how he ate my grampaw’s shoe

and your visitors! they were a mess
you couldn’t really call them guests
they drank a lot and cursed and spat
not one of them removed their hat

So spider, will you hear me out?
please don’t say I’ll have to shout
I screamed all day, yesterday
I’ve not a thought left anyway.