short poems, because national poetry month.


sweetpea pod
divining goldenrod
from thistles, silk emerge

nestled quintuplets
multiple upsets
silence, the funeral dirge.

His eyes are dead,
they don’t do their job.
And still we walk 
toward him.


i gave away
my stethoscope
so i could hear
your insides better

throw on a black dress
you think i’m intriguing
not as much as the 
sight of you leaving


when did
a noun?

Thor half-ass awoke
to the power out
and wondered if
he should start over.

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