Measure of Grief

Sigh as long as you

Don’t keep it in.

Prodigal

The Lost Son?

Some lost souls say he was never lost
To begin with, though it’s hard
For the poor mind wanting

To grasp how
He was the profligate
Who found himself

By wasting it all away.

Hagoromo, David Miller

Recently received from the author: A small selection of Miller's previously uncollected poetry, which draws on work from the 1970s to the present. The ink-on-paper cover--"Untitled (Blue & Black)"--is also by David. Always a pleasure to receive something from such a gifted poet.

Regarding Wards of the State

When impermanence states
The spoken

Word’s ir-
Revocable, the

Written ir-
Reversible,

Then irresistible

Silence becomes
Our sole constant re-

Minder.

Doppelgänger

imagine a double

crossing the mirror
with your face

en face.