the curse remains

sad man

my wife died of anxiety

morphine was the means

but anxiety was the cause

she saw no cure but death

now she finally rests in peace

but her three children carry on

with the anxiety they inherited

and now, a profound sadness

i cry for them

i can’t finish this poem




The Count (So Far)


Sixty-two times around the sun

A thirty billion mile run

I’d clung to Earth both day and night

As twenty thousand times it spun


My life is four or five dogs old

The beating of my heart, untold

I’ve tholed a dozen presidents

And watched a score of wars unfold


And though time flows and hours gain

And moments seem to wax and wane

Within the cosmic hourglass

Time passes only grain by grain


(Originally posted 12-2016)



devoid of matter

full of substance

souls are stories


from silver space

and golden time

each is a valiant


told anew around

an ancient campfire

and echoing through


our ethereal souls

leap into the sky

like these burning


to abide forever

among the timeless

constellations of



Time Machine

time machine

Once upon a time machine

He fashioned from a box

With nothing more than crayons

And a cache of broken clocks

The little boy went scooting

Down the corridors of time

And it was all so easy

For a young and open mind

But now the boy’s a physicist

And studies all his days

To learn to build a time machine

In complicated ways

And every day it’s clearer

What his facts and figures mean:

That only little boys can build

A real time machine

cream soda sun

hazy sun

it’s a smokey-sky morning

under a cream soda sun

fires from afar spread

a brown-tinged sadness

smudging the sky

the fence throws

a checkerboard

on the hazel lawn

the pigeons are pink

the smoke brings

with it a certain hush–

as if we’re all waiting

for something to happen

under this cream soda sun