good morning!

anger has taken
up permanent residence
in my lower back

missed something

I keep bumping up
against the feeling I am
just now waking up

crop circle

what did I know then
supine in the tall grasses
sun. wind. skin. being.

rainbow

the colour of giving up
is not the colour of failure

next

at the very end
of a life of starts it's all
finished busy-ness

dinner anyone?

there's no evidence
of my butchery of fish
folded into crust

mourning

this poem is a bucket
of dirty soapy water
that cleaned the floor