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Moving Words

I’m going to hop on this poem
let it move like a rhino
leather seat worn beyond years
eye of extinct planet
honk its horn contemporarily
tippity galumph.

To the Coast

No longer narrow lanes
twisting through green hills of trees
frilly ripple of stream,
but a sharp exhalation
loud exclamation

Survival

each footprint in the snow
is a stroke on the wall—
each move
contemplated
calibrated
painful to all joints—

Three AM

Outside,
the rain whispers—
playing counterpart to the sounds
inside.

Soft tapping of keys
gives birth to ideas, …

A Guest

I had come to the kitchen to fix a bracket fan
When I noticed a grey, ponderous chap,
sitting smug and unseen near the tea-whitener can.
He was nibbling a slice of cinnamon bread …