Don't remind me
of that pregnant oeuvre.
A star is trouble,
no matter how uplifting.
Modern herbalists,
alchemists for desire,
disintegrating climate.
Evidence aside,
we and our planet
immune to harmonic
healing. Like nerve impulses
remind the bedridden
of forgotten motion,
wrapped in covers,
exact in yearning for
a remembered home.
Uncertain Love For Whom I Wait
Night at the diner
The moon has crossed the sky
The waitress shuts off my coffee drip
Once you and I shared peach pie at a red table
Your cell phone must be out of juice
Every evening deserves a title