Poetry

a million gods would kill for this job

& the world rushed into existence

Modern Poetry

The moon.

Late One Night

I rolled out of bed, slowly / Crawled across a potato / chip ridden carpet,

The Pig Died

Who would say this?

Like a Giraffe

“Oh, oh! I see, my dear,”

Signs From Above

BE SMART / DRIVE SLOW

Violin

Inside me is a good violinist