Every picture tells a story only if you know what that story is (a poem)

I started this after reading Bill Drummond’s 3" x 1"… Took me a few days to come back to it to fill in a couple of missing pieces. I’ve read another tellingof childhood adventures,scenes that once might have been describedas idyllic, bucolic, picturesque, unspoiled. One of many. The stories vary in their detail,and sometimes in tone,but [...]

An untitled poem about long ago Decembers (a poem)

Self-explanatory… I rememberedas I was driving back homethat Santa had my mother’s handwritingplus a slight smear of inkfrom putting the tag on the present When I think about itI remember neither subterfugenor betrayal We simply never questioned the conceit Santa never appeared in quotation marksI never pointed out what was obvious to all I can’t [...]

There’s a moment—like this one (a poem)

Now that we have our hour back… I know how to feel it,but not how to describe it. Weightlessness and weightare not necessarily opposing principles,which is probably why they don’tcancel each other out. And I’m sure it’s whythe room feels so crowdedat certain moments. I don’t have trouble with moments… Actually, it’s moments I havethe [...]