This Just In, April 2019

I’ve been reading the sad script of our lives
in the morning paper and don’t much care for
the current draft, which churns on and on,
the bloody plot repeating itself over and over,

The View from North Dakota, March 2019

Southerners have a taste for nostalgia.
It doesn’t take more than a balmy breeze
to carry them back to some old house
and a younger face, a distant voice
or a kiss they never washed away.

Desert Sunrise, January 2019

Behind me, California sleeps,
the toast barely up in Albuquerque,
the coffee lukewarm in Omaha,
Detroit already revealed for
everything it will never be.