after William Carlos Williams
i.
This is just to say
there will be no
plums in the kitchen
after William Carlos Williams
i.
This is just to say
there will be no
plums in the kitchen
With no apologies to Joe Nichols’
“Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off”
Poems don’t stomp a country beat
To make you tap your booted feet
They aren’t equipped with catchy hooks
Adorned by cowboys’ flashy looks
Repeated ’til your brain-root rots—
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The world of computers is
governed by the hexadecimal,
where the count of finger
and toes is expressed as 1416.
for my Guinevere
The beach is littered
with a thousand shards
hints of pink and purple
wave upon wave of white
It’s very simple dialectics. One through nine,
no maybes, no supposes, no fractions.
Dialectic logic is there’s only love and hate,
you either love somebody or you hate them.
~The Photojournalist, Apocalypse Now!
I think he was thinking of dichotomous
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or, Meet Me in St. Diego
Ding ding ding rang the dinghy
Well, not really the dinghy
But the bell on the dinghy
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The carcass of a doe
has lain for weeks
in a graveled ditch
on Twin Lakes road.
The lower half is gone
but the upper torso
rears back its head
in rigored anguish.
September. Court is in session again,
a darkness on the edge of our town.
Winthrop’s vultures have returned
to their perches in the forked snag.
On a hillside above Twin Lakes Road
a hand-painted sign beside a rugged cross
reads, “In loving memory of Josh and Rachel—
you will be in our hearts always.”