WRITING
WRITING
POETRY
ELECTION DAY
Who is this Vic Tanny Bitch?/ Who would pimp out his daughters/ To the horny and strung-out skeeters…
LOS ANGELES
“I think I’m a kind of a poet”/ Said the lion when he crossed/ Town/ O’er the 101/ Tempting the long death of Ellay
PANCHO
The old sheepdog laps/ By the lamplight/ He laughs
To be a Photograph
To love quietly/ Is to be a photograph/ We are only allowed/ The empty glasses, the cat…
August, without the sweat
I’ve got nowhere to go./For the indefinite future, I am bound to my bedroom…
A collection of Haikus
There is a plum tree/ Outside my bedroom window…
Blue
I love the way the sun feels on my back/ When I wake up bare