I’m retooling my home office. Out goes the daybed and in comes a mid-century modern couch. And my DYI industrial desk is to give way to a 1950’s-60’s wooden wonder of a bridge table where my iPad and MacBook shall roommate. For years I’ve worked a clam-shelled 2017 MacBook Pro
Coin flip the alliterations; politics in a pervasiveculture in a contagionpersuasiom in a pandemicpromise in a pestilenceideology in an infirmityfranchise in an infectionrepublic in a rampanttally without a tenet NaPoWriMo April 2020.
(Given the mattress name-checked here, this past NaPoWriMo effort goes back pretty deep into the last decade.) I seldom do prompts. But I’ve notice some poeming to a Blues Song thing. O.K.
As the cafe was closingOn a warm summer nightAnd Cathy was cleaning the spoonsThe radio played the hit paradeAnd I hummed a long with the tuneShe asked me to change the stationSaid
I can no longer pasteurize every purchase,each utterance, all the sufferance of thisfrothy Spring. We can witness a real time terrorist camp take downbut have no room in the situation room to
No new poem today. Feeling a bit under the weather. Which is pandemic talk for; one foot in the grave. But fear not, I’ve always been a fan of hyperbole….The loveliest, most
Lock down ain’t new for meAnd knew I’d be back to jailin’come week three Pre-teen and up riverI was in a young stir,crazy, things were-and odds rose dailyby my mere presenceI’d graduate
Circular is my cynicism and calorie consumptionI handle updates of the body countbetter before breakfastCurrently, an English muffin and dicedfruit swimming in a diminutive plasticaquarium sealed to punish the arthritic Which hints
Natch, tags aren’t working, so this postingrhymes with so what, orwhat for, oreyes only Natch, NaPoWriMo as a tag, ears somewhatsub rosa-alphabetically cabbalistic, a bithush-hush- So why rush some poesy, when the