Category Archives: Poetry

One Day

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April 27, 2019 · 3:21 pm

My Name is Abasia

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April 20, 2019 · 3:41 pm

One Thing

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April 17, 2019 · 10:58 pm

Garbage Can

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April 15, 2019 · 9:25 pm

Hope Dream

Last night, total kleptomania, I tucked 
the universe down in my shorts then I ran
–scattering rogue, fleeing the scene, flat out quick. 
No one was looking. 

Soon I found a back street fog to slip into.
Home-free, I caught clawing cimmerian sounds
–that bopping cats do scratching doors wanting in. 
Got me to thinking, 

were those dream kittens? That’s when I checked my pants. 
The universe was not there. I had dropped it. 
And that’s when I began to wonder, what’s now 
keeping me running? 

Physics? I thought I knew gravity, how to 
suspend whims; we can’t be spontaneous till 
we get our shit done. Our scale, mass, magnitude,
like poems, had meaning. 

And love, its buoyancy, its stretchiness, its 
cool hell; thought I knew clouds, like Joni Mitchell,
but now with life’s illusions lost, what were clouds? 
Everything? Nothing? 

The universe–all of space, time, planets, stars, 
galaxies, all the matter and energy,
known and unknown spacial events–gone,
no longer happening.  

All, I’m sorry for losing the universe 
in a dream. I will try to snooze better in 
the future–-if there is a tomorrow in 
this dream. Here’s hoping. 

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Perfect Gift for the Holidays: Dark Sandwiches

Christmas is not too far off. So, why not give Dark Sandwiches to those you love? And while you’re at it, also give Dark Sandwiches to those you don’t like all that much. It’s the perfect gift for everyone.

“Dark Sandwiches is whimsical, radical and wonderfully weird. If David Lynch, John Lennon and Edward Corey had a literary threesome, their love child might look something like this. Make no mistake, Gresham is a wholly original American voice.” Edward E Romero, writer, and director


Get it.



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Headline News: This is a Golden Age of Journalism

US envoy to Israel faces Senate after Trump scraps two-state policy
Surprise! Trump hands the mic to supporter at Florida rally

Zakaria: Trump has’hardly done anything’
Comey talks Russia with senators in closed-door briefing

Senators want Russia-related materials preserved
Flynn changed story to FBI, no charges expected

Tillerson presides over abrupt shakeup at State Department
Trump pivots to economic message in Boeing visit

Clinton’s staffers are keeping up the fight
Republicans have long talk about replacing Obamacare, but no bill yet

Cruz to Trump: Name John Bolton as national security adviser
Officials: Mike Dubke to be named as White House communications director

McCain: Dictators ‘get started by suppressing free press’
Trump wants a ‘wall’. Border experts want a fence

Jeff Sessions’ team takes over Washington
Under fire, Trump returns to the campaign

Priebus denies collusion between Trump campaign and Russian officials
Navy commander charged in long-running scandal

Roommate wanted: No Trump supporters
McConnell urges GOP: Don’t fear protesters

Trump’s Sweden comment raises questions
Is Russia’s obsession with Donald Trump waning?

DeVos given U.S. Marshals Service protection
Smerconish: ‘This is a golden age of journalism’


from CNN headlines 2/10/17

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patchwork #2

In the sky she floats,
flooding the shadowed earth
with clear silver light. (Sappho)
Herself to her a Music
as bumble-bee of June. (Dickenson)
That music of my nature,
day and night with dream
and thought and feeling interwound (Browning)
among the litter of a sunless afternoon
having eaten without tasting
talked without communion. (Loy)

Love comes in waves like the ocean,
a sickness which goes on
& on, a hollow cave. (Attwood)


  • The Poems of Sappho
  • The Poems of Emily Dickenson
  • The Soul’s Expression by Elisabeth Barrett Browning
  • Human Cylinders by Mina Loy
  • Postcards by Margaret Attwood

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Garbage Can


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February 3, 2017 · 4:22 pm

Aubade: Sing like the Sun

Wake up you sleep shop heads. Wake now sleep stop.
Make with morning songs sung second to none.

Get up. Get up. Good god, get up a ton.
Stick socks and shoes on feet–sans the holdup.

Last warning. No snoozing here. Coffee’s up.
Don’t zizz on like hell on a hot dog bun

–a blanket sausage/pillowed concoction.
God bless everyone but get the hell up.

Window look, out, toward the sun. Rub your eyes
or whatever you do in the morning.

Sun’s an early riser so so must you
blow a so long kiss to your slumber selves.

And then stretch–sing like a sun a-shinin’.
Suns do sing, sleepsters. And, oh, don’t argue.

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