Category Archives: Poetry

The Act of Graduation

Ron Buehler stands before me, vested, hatted, mustachioed. He’s pushing 50 and so am I. We are both completely civil.

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Tomorrow’s Garden

Do not deadhead evil flowers     nor pinch their potent buds for wrong is ne’er so strong they say     as when new growth is stressed.

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The Dreams We Sleep

I sit by a gentle smoldering fire in the glow of morning Methow sun which has finally scaled the crest of Silver Star’s hunched shoulder—

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Dialetheia

Only two types of people exist:

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Parenthetical

that literary construct designed to clarify otherwise shoddy prose by sandwiching morphemes between em-dashes, commas, or pairs of actual eponymous parentheses

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Cutthroat Alternatives

I. Leaving my air- conditioned digs I drove half an hour hiked a quarter mile

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Killing Time

They of course caught Bulova red-handed. He had more hands than one, naturally, but it was the bloody one that mattered— the third hand, the one entitled second,

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Oratio Dominica, Anglica Vetus

Joan Wicleff it was from whom I learnt: art is a verb.

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Intermission, Kansas

Once upon a time in Memphis, I consumed 300 films a year; what would I ever have done in a ghosted town like yours,

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The Half of It

inspired by the film of that name i. You want me to turn out the lamp. I linger on your face a little longer.

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