NaPoWriMo, April 10, 2019

Succulents in the burning river of mayonnaise
trace the divine idiot’s place on the chaise
With a vastly uneasy host of horse mongers
Pasting the most of the tasty bingbongers
While vegetating in a massive booth
on a window, sipping vermouth.
Those are the kind of succulents I like. Sike.


NaPoWriMo, April 5, 2019


Eyes wide open
Fingers ready
Lift the tissue paper
Pull out the thing

Do you like it?
Yes: Happy attachment forms
No: Dread dissolves the thrill of anticipation

“Thank you!”

Move on to the next gift

And the next

Then the last

Face falls

Hope melts into sadness
as the realization comes:
the notion of what could be
was the real gift

NaPoWriMo, April 4, 2019

How I Create

A piece of painted clay
rests upon my desk
Decades ago I shaped this lump
with kindergarten hands
It has a ball on top
like a nipple
And bitty poked indents
made by tiny fingers.
What was I thinking when I crafted this shape?
Probably nothing
Just playing with the materials
to see what they suggest.
Forty-five years gone
and nothing has changed —
Lump of clay, my mind,
or me.