Friday, August 18, 2017

     The night air has cool'd
and the space between my arms
     still remains empty
* * *

     The night air has cool'd
Like Autumn has come early
     And still you are gone
* * *

Thursday, August 10, 2017

     "Guilty," the judge said.
"Envious of a wine glass."
     How embarrassing!

Sunday, August 6, 2017

     My heart's crude ballon
Whenever I see your face—
     Smile at me again
* * *

Monday, July 31, 2017

     Something is coming
the bellowing train horn warns—
     "Soon, soon," she whispers

Monday, July 17, 2017

This morning, the homeless man with a voice like a cartoon prospector refused to believe that my bicycle was not an electric one.

Saturday, July 8, 2017

"It's been two weeks. When does this start getting easier," he wondered.

"Two weeks," the centurion scoffed. "You've got a lot to learn..."

Wednesday, July 5, 2017


Last night, I walked down 18th Street from my home, maybe about half a mile or so, to watch Fourth of July fireworks.  Every year, Tucson launches a barrage of sodium, copper, lithium, and barium into the night sky from the backside of Sentinel Peak, and for at least the last decade or so, I've put no real effort into watching them.  There are exploding colors.  There are exploding claps.  Dogs hate them.  Vets hate them.  A lot of people stand around.

It's a program I've seen before.