My Poetry: The Poems, The Art

Collected Works and Poetic Learning

Latest from the Blog

To smoke

In the hay fieldsthe horse hooves hammer home;he rides on haunted hills,on hell, on a black horse,on my last breath as handswrapped around a throatand the cancer, surelyto come if I continue.


Dear viewer, do not be confused,truth is the movie scene, continuous,and, yet, there is a Texas Switch,an audience unknowingly influencedby directors swapping the whichis which and who is who of true.


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