I like to write poems in  the passenger seat of my car, parked in the shade in a cemetery not far,  nary a sound, stories all around, ...

To the  bumbling bee   I obliterated yesterday,    the one who stung me on the heel mercilessly and whose life  I stomped out, an enraged...

Today, He can’t recall Where he got the notion That red ants would not bite him, As if he had some kind of force field or Natural...