Haven't I written myself to shame?
My intestines still multiplying...

Narnian dreams attached to lunchbox stickers,
rustic doorknobs, and squealing windows...

Should I approach with caution?
For when my backside is groaning...

Poetry is meant to be tasted, called beloved,
summoned when you have dotted lines on...

The risk of bowing our knees
on the ocean's glaze...

A street sign stood crooked with its
face an arrow pointing straight...

The cascade of admirers
huddle below...

Loneliness-
lukewarm milk dozing off at the bottom of my mug...

Charlotte never complained or moaned when I called...

May I be luminous in you? Dazzle
like sunflowers who mimicked love...

Fly from this earth,
that's what she crossed her fingers for...

What will your last smile stir inside
of me? An absence of mind perhaps...