Squatters' Blue Window Shutters

creaking derelict refrain
giving us no quarter—

angry jalousies o-
pening and clo-

sing in a bitter wind,
giving us away

again and again.

Minor Minimalist Poet's Major Prognostication

No whys or ifs about it—
It really is a small world full
Of big disappointments where
We’ll end up trashing
The little talent we have
Writing garbage we think
Expansive enough to fill it.

Sappho Encomium Honey

None so highly revered 
As she amongst us peace 

Loving women whenever 
She took up her lyre and all 

Rude rowdy creatures drew 
Back into silence so sweet it was 

As balm to our oft offended ears.

Egocentric One, It Matters That

The world is beside itself 
Watching and will not 
Turn forever 

A deaf ear to or look 
Away from what 
You are doing to it 

By looking the other way. 

Bitter Poetic Susurrus Carried On A Goodly Wind

It’s always this too 
Obscenely familiar 
Refrain that slips through 

(Tall slovenly grasses ringing 
Derelict tombstones) 

That keeps intimating 
Nothing remains the same, 
Nothing worth keeping alive, 

Not even our good name.