Transitorial |
Where we live
Before we know it's home
hang "No Trespassing" signs
replace worn welcome mats
string tennis shoes from power lines
think rebellion something new
in the bloom of all that
catacombs of &n...
Posted by Simba on Mon, 09 Jul 2007 06:09:00 PST |
Disturbed |
Postponementof Christmas past: a daughter's western death dance. Withering. Of featuring dethroned, live, Jordanian girl babies; that black sash place between air and skin emptying one father's voice ...
Posted by Simba on Tue, 02 Jan 2007 07:18:00 PST |
On the way to Stahman's Farm |
Along San Pablo roadwhere the pecan trees are bare the space between rows stretch like hallways home. Blackbirds on the gravel strutbeak tilt warnings in vain,for the ma...
Posted by Simba on Wed, 27 Dec 2006 10:06:00 PST |
Hemophiliac Nations |
War is raw spelled backward.A drained body is not modestas a poem that is all about itself,Doesn't pretend the end just happens.When a poet no longer believes in anything but himself there can be no m...
Posted by Simba on Wed, 25 Oct 2006 11:11:00 PST |
A Short poem |
The PastFound: that broken part of sadness: silence: where one, two, too many times you passed unoticed and sublime. Your cool hands, your derby cap tipped to birds that flew....
Posted by Simba on Mon, 16 Oct 2006 09:09:00 PST |
