Dotty Goes In Dotty goes in for her surgery in 2 days. The once-small lump near belly button keeps growing. Today it is a golf ball hemisphere. It doesn’t bother her like it bothers me. She writhes on her back, purring, while its red angry presence laughs. Fuck you, tumor. Soon you will be jarred,…
Category: collage
POPO 2025 — Day 26 — On Bombing Iran (written on 4th of July)
On Bombing Iran (written on 4th of July) I made a spotify playlist last night. Words escaped to string into feelings. It was easy. Distracted for a moment from seeing a curse come true for the whole world. How many will die? Like I mentioned before, these are not ekphrastic poems. The puff looked like…
POPO 2025 — Day 25 — Helped
Help(ed) Someone blinked neon green help at me through atrium window one night. How the tiny prisoner came to be trapped doesn’t matter only that they needed release. One jar and paper towel later she blinked thanks at me then away, into ink.
POPO 2025 — Day 24 — Chip Be Nimble
Chip Be Nimble I was reminded today that chipmunks are squirrels instead of chatty cartoons, runners and burrowers. I watched one climb the slider screen, then pull itself onto windchimes to trapeze. Only a miniature squirrel could be so nimble. Note: You may be wondering what fruit has to do with chipmunks. Nothing, other than…
POPO 2025 — Day 23 — How to Poem
How to Poem How does one write a poem without sounding like a poet? I prefer in your face forms and rules; no hiding or trickery; to present itself as it is where liminal space need not puzzle it out. There’s a-muse-ment though in free versing it, like pouring a few drops of honey into…
POPO 2025 — Day 22 — Finally Noticed
Finally Noticed At the gardens at the koi pond appreciating shade I look up to see a stand of dawn redwood surrounding me. How many times have we walked the curving path to marvel at stacked boulders giving water its falling form, watched calico swirls gather tasty pellets without noticing the trees?
POPO 2025 — Day 21 — drinkable riot
drinkable riot Riotous chamomile with its tall stalks, tiny daisy heads moving to wind’s (uneven) rhythm makes me smile; as it delights me to see my tea free in the wild.
