The Right Turn of Phrase

Hinges on

How it swings.

Uncorrupted

How is it sullied unceasingly

By slews of maculate conceptions,
The poem finds itself still

A virgin.

Protecting Your Image

What’s shone

as the sheen
of veneer

keeps the base
inferior interior.

As Good as It Gets

Gray morning

Dove waits on
Rusted wrought iron

Railing.

Epiphany

Lord,

If it’s true that nothing
We have seen so far has prepared us
For what we are to witness,

When that one clear moment rises
At last to the surface, let us clearly
Welcome it as a sign of our past

Unfathomable ignorance.