I am romanticizing the air, savoring sunlight like food...

Wandering around the streets of a lower cityscape...

When they were buried, eggshell skins curdling...

Your assigned note for singing is close to another note...

Sally asks what I mean when I describe the poet as “out there”...

This is a palette cleanser, brushes at the ready...

The other night I went to hear an Andean ensemble...

I have nodded along through my life...

Wrangling an essay and still ending up...

A poem should have at least one good list...

Unlike poetry, where the title is part of the art...

We labor at night when the moon sings or in the morning...

wooden words would lack...

Nala’s skateboard hits the raised lip of an uneven sidewalk that catapults her forward...

Frida Kahlo bled her heart up into black hills...

Is it good to be original and creative without knowing it...

I imagine we are there midst...

It’s a Whole Lotta Love vs. the Fifth Symphony...

AI thrives on the myths we feed it...

Economic language
with keen focus...

I’m practicing again on this instrument I couldn’t wait to quit playing...