When life gives you words
make word salad.
~W. John McGregor
Croutons
1/2 French baguette Other 1/2 any nationality.
3 Tbsp olive oil Extra virgin (to assist).
1 tsp garlic Minced, as with words.
2 Tbsp Parmesan Capital. Just grate.
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The letter S is not a fact.
You sat in your car at the local park.
You had parked there to get in some work,
to bridge a gap between meetings.
The computer gaped on your lap, blank.
A stone’s throw from Rendezvous Road
a cabin crouches into itself,
walls rolled in and ridgepole crushed.
But dust beneath the roof is dry—
After ecologist Monica Gagliano
Six months she swam in the sea,
immersed in a school of fish.
The tiniest things, they would come
to study her as well.
after Dan Brown
Tails flare out
and flash about
Fins aloft
are not so soft
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After Night Watch, photograph by Jack McLeod
The fire lookout belches light
like the furnace stoked to consume
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.
Say their names. Yes, say them.
after William Carlos Williams
i.
This is just to say
there will be no
plums in the kitchen
With no apologies to Joe Nichols’
“Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off”
Poems don’t stomp a country beat
To make you tap your booted feet
They aren’t equipped with catchy hooks
Adorned by cowboys’ flashy looks
Repeated ’til your brain-root rots—
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The world of computers is
governed by the hexadecimal,
where the count of finger
and toes is expressed as 1416.
for my Guinevere
The beach is littered
with a thousand shards
hints of pink and purple
wave upon wave of white
