Tag Archives: my son


if he runs out of paper skin becomes canvas patterned with paint and ink doodling walking art, he calls it

Posted in micropoetry | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

Midway II

  the boy who will not climb ladders or go down slides taller than his mother opens his eyes, finally at the top of the Ferris wheel says hello, clouds & points to the crowd snaking lines for other rides … Continue reading

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , | 10 Comments