Song of Innocence

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Tell me whose fair children,
In cool cauldron tall, once sang
Carefree with naked innocence all.

Hard As Rock Provenance

Where you can

Still stand where

You come from,

No matter where

Or how

Hard that is. 

The Heights of Fancy

We know

The poet’s voice has reached

Its pinnacle when

We can hear a pin

Drop here down below.

Poetry Only As Old As You Feel

The Poet as Methuselah

—for Joe Hutchison

Honestly, I’m an old man

But I’m not really

That old.

I was just

Feeling my age when

These lines came to me,

Forever young.

Faced with Below the Belt Criticism, the Besmirched Poet Retaliates

You cocky fly you—

Fouling

My immaculate sheets

Of verse—I swear

Before my hour’s through,

Your shit shall be maculating

The fan too.