Dear Wednesday,
Last night’s dreams were just weird enough to linger, but not so much that I can actually remember them. Did you have something to do with that?
Love,
Kevin
(12 September 2018)
September 2018
If the bloodied cat and the pâpier-maché heads on the floor weren’t enough, every street corner pavement square or metal grate is a new entry to a slow-motion, one-way drop beneath the city and points beyond (a poem)
Dreams.…
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Dear Tuesday…
Dear Tuesday,
I can’t really blame Monday, because when I woke up during one of those dreams, you were already in charge.
Love,
Kevin
(11 September 2018)
Prelude to the beatdown (a poem)
I’m not doing it on purpose, but my spelling seems to be becoming increasingly British.…
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Dear Monday…
Dear Monday,
I could have used more of a break today, but at least things are turning out all right for a change.
Love,
Kevin
(10 September 2018)
Crepacuore (a poem)
Watched Lina Wertmüller’s Swept Away for the first time in about 40 years…
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Dear Sunday…
Dear Sunday,
Time to see how well this is going to work.
Love,
Kevin
(9 September 2018)
When the poet forgets to breathe (a poem)
It would be irresponsible of me to say more than what is in the poem…
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Dear Saturday…
Dear Saturday,
Another day, another ‘now what’…
Love,
Kevin
(8 September 2018)
Waiting Room Poem #64. Magazine rack
Another true story—and yes, I’m reusing that picture of me from a few years ago.
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Ordinary Average Thoughts 