Category Archives: Poetry

Feeling Blue in San Francisco

We got here by train It runs the tracks Wednesday nights I’m feeling blue in San Francisco My brother says The city pulls Me by the collar A white man in the station Sang a song for me And my … Continue reading

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Ode to Jimmy

Hey now here’s Jimmy, the fellow who says he’d live in the last line of a Dickinson poem if the publisher had some extra space. Jimmy’s blank as book paper. You see now Jimmy here’s a mirror for the world, … Continue reading

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Memory

I imagine that standing on ledges is a little like watching white smoke and smelling tire rubber if you’re not sure where they came from.

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Home

I button my coat and step outside, leaving room between my gloves for a handshake. Here, no one. One of the street lamps standing at the edge of the lawn colors everything yellow except the night it won’t let you … Continue reading

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Roses

Because I knew Mama’s garden’s roses, I knew all roses. They (all) were white ones and pink ones, maybe florescent too if my eyes were young enough. Of course I’d ask if I could eat them (because they were so pretty). … Continue reading

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