Fifty Shades of Green
The ancient garage always reeked of grass.
Cure II
The best cure for poetry is
My Poetry
My poetry kicks in the door,
bellows for beer,
Cakes
I could have stared at the waitresses legs
A Winter’s Dawn at Oliver’s End
Winter prowls through Shingle Creek Park.
Assembly Line Blues
Two joints before first shift,
recovery from last night,
lube the line.