Wednesday, November 02, 2016


                           poetry is all

          a scent of berry like a splash of destiny

          which hints at the last of life...

                                —Jane Miller

Everything’s falling
apart.  Everything
of me and mine. 
Can’t hornswaggle
a thing back.  And
that’s the USA,
right?  No truth
nor beauty.  I lie
to the sky (sky-
ward?) like a
fool, singing
the dumbest
thoughts as
they fall to
the earth.