Things not to do when you're sick

Things not to do when you're sick

• Go to the funeral
• Lick the thank you notes closed
• Go to the birthday party
• Go to the lecture

my epitaph shall be

No matter how I die
my epitaph shall be

Gone ahead to a place
where I can fin'ly hear
all the stories and learn
all the songs and the names
of all the things.  I pray
I'll see you there (not soon : ).

spring and other things that spring eternal

The plants I thought I killed
at least three times once by
drowning once by freezing and

once by thawing too early may
have survived my ineptitude as
there are three sprouts shooting

up from the darkness of the soil
in the pot in my garage all winter
like hope springing eternal until

you find out it's three weeds but
you don't care because everything
is finally coming alive once again.

Why I clearly need to send more letters

42 cent stamps,
when will I be done with you,
2042?

Why

I am why

I cannot have

nice things

Lie to me

Lie to me,
fortune cookie;
I will believe you.

Grimly curious

we'll find out 

how many things 

on the to-do list 

can be done from 

the couch with 

only one knee 

properly elevated 

and resting

Today's faint praise

Today I am grateful
my knee gave out
5 steps from my door
not further away

stray poetry book

stray poetry book
hiding on nonfiction shelf
stealthy ninja truth

sorry, Emily D, but I'm cracking myself up here

sometimes it feels like hope

is the thing with feathers

you just hit with your car

: /

unsteady walks

no one cards for this
so easy to be drunk on spring
don't know my limit

He asks is this fun

We are on the train
because he wanted to ride.
He asks, "Is this fun?"

nature laughs at me again

darn nature just keeps
pooping on everything
so it's hard to commune

when the poem disappears, write another

internet ate the
turtles but frogs are croaking
nothing is wasted

I will miss all the windows

wrestle with SharePoint
mutter take this you sons of
pixels watch spring light

how do you look away

Seasonal Clearance!

Condensation Closeout!

End of Season Sale on Snow!

Everything Must Go!

The sky is using

all remaining

winter inventory 

today!

Small, hard, pellet snow, check!
Medium, dry, shaken snow globe snow, check!
Medium, fluffy, sedately swirling snow, check!
Big, wet, sloppy snow, check!

How do you look away from this 

beautiful spring chaos?

what's that sound?

Stop to listen to
tip tap of tiny hail
April showers, go!

virga

we watch through windows
rain falls from clouds far away
on someone else's heads?

fractured prose

The shameless self-promotion 

from the Facebook group read, 

'Looking for the perfect 

CHRISTMAS PRESENT for that friend 

or relative who loves poetry 

and laments the fact that modern 

"poets" have abandoned it 

for fractured prose?' I was

inexplicably delighted by

this accurate characterization 

of what I write, as if it had

no value or purpose or reason

for existing when, for me, 

it represents how I think

with my bent toward narrative

prose combined with my fractured 

concentration and attention 

span because of the pain 

and the sleeplessness

it causes, so thank you,

disparaging and dismissive

and self-righteous poet busy

flogging your own obviously 

superior form of writing, for

unintentionally presenting me 

with the gift of words 

to accurately describe 

my own.  : )

Birthday questions between book chapters

Why, do you suppose, is it so hard for me to

rest--to focus only on ignoring my own 

entropy--when it is so recharging to my 

soul? Is this constant excuse of attending 

to the entropy around me instead, especially 

when I need rest so desperately, another 

series of the small acts of self-sabotage I 

am so good at not noticing myself doing 

until I write about them?