Free Verse

Here’s some more free verse.  The title probably needs to be revised.  If you have a suggestion, feel free to leave it in the comments.





At the Last Minute the Guy Decided Not to Go to the Reunion, and Instead Watched the Ballgame at Some Dive on the Outskirts of Town.


It has been a hard ride.

The tank is half empty now,

and far away memories

are redshifted in the

rearview mirror.

He can see the building

jutting from the horizon –

its predicable geometry

reaches into the sky

as his mundane destiny

begins to crystallize

within its form.

He is the architect

of his own prison,

of his own tomb,

but there is still time

to escape it.

He steps on the gas

and drives like hell through

the winding night as the

constellations scatter – afraid

and unable to control him

any longer.

More Free Verse


A Procrastinator’s Epiphany

The whiskey is mellow,
and the hammock sways
almost imperceptibly
as a Southerly breeze delivers
me into an oblivious sleep.
I wake to the screams
of a million Mayflies
in their death throes, and
the wind is out of the
Northeast now, siphoning
the heat from my bones.
A red Sun has scribbled
its mad manifesto
across the ugly world
in serpentine shadows:
I will hold you in orbit, and
you will mark the revolutions.
Squander these days, or don’t –
I will not remember your name.
Infinities will be devoured
by greater infinities. Immortality
is an abomination – the gift is
this moment, right now. *

* First appeared in Scarlet Leaf Review, October, 2017.

Free Verse


Op-eds and Obituaries

​He chased an apparition
around The Circus Maximus
of his mind.  It was a shapeshifter,
a lost love, a Rolls-Royce,
it was whatever he believed
happiness might have been
at the moment.

He chased it for decades,
for a lifetime, for all he was worth,
until he finally ran it down
and tackled the damned thing.

It turned out to be nothing more
than a threadbare flannel shirt
and faded blue jeans stuffed
with yellowed newspaper,
all op-eds and obituaries.

“Well, I don’t think that’s fair at all,” he said,
and then he died. *

*This poem first appeared in Scarlet Leaf Review, October 2017.