You think you’re paying for it, but I know you aren’t. I’m as close as your notepad, feel the cashier move ? Always the same, up at six, draft at nine-thirty, the little fucker Biff learns manufacturing or it’s ‘stop tinkering’ That dropper draft your thumbtack, dollars and blowtorch
Short Poem No.20
To her, he is the perfect specimen of time and place,To himself, he is too close to something very wrong. Halfway home she remembers the bracelet in the kitchen,draped on the stained wood chair – she closes the window.I hate these damn boots.
Short Poem No.19
Dripping, she said, and stalactitesor stalagmites, which ones go up?then, near the beach, on a benchcovered in pigeon poo, the green maskswere painless mistakes.Bottle of water, bottle of beer.
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Short Poem No.18
Ten thousand monkeys and one key to paradise,they found bones and a toolbeside the water fountainburied in the hip of a mountain the night’s rain had washed awaya faint rainbow in the sun. Beer bottles and a kiss, two deliberate strangersplan a meeting for the man climbing in the window fromthe black metal fire escape … Continue reading Short Poem No.18
AMERICAN WINE WRITER 