It is no secret, sidewalk-strider, that all are not aligned, like you,

It’s Saturday morning. Mario Palmeri’s going to lose his lid. I mean, he’s heading down to Tony’s Barbershop on College Street and getting a trim because he’s starting to look like a Sicilian Harpo Marx.

We’re 18 and 20, unbound, unfettered, gilded cages in the distance a mere mirage,

i can’t stop imagining how it would feel to be a snake shed the shell of myself

As the voices merge and swim  in unison beneath the darkening blue,  as swallows dart above the top 

You made an art of freedom in restraint, O wilderness! O careful cultivation! Lover, lady, lion, patron saint.

Focusing  Setting goals  is an obsession  that pushes 

In the beginning, Only algae Peep from the canthus of eyes.

Dolls of glazed porcelain in China towns Posed proudly upon their doily shelves, yet I am dusty beneath the kitchen chair.

Birds waiting out a summer's shower Perch on horizontal lines and cower

Epicurus looked out over the white sand into the green sea and smiled his morning smile, which was the same as his late night smile after a third glass of wine...

We get rain a lot like tears, hot, clouds like pallors, like the shade on Grandfather's face

Father believed I could not love a tree Because you had no hands for me to hold,

I turn yellow— I flicker green— Like water blistering to light, Like fire at midnight,

to Hell when I die, all my many fails and transgressions and trespasses but sin

Where unchosen silences abound people whisper silently inside. Silence whispers, inside people

...the simplicity of minimalism reduces nature to its basics to reveal the underlying beauty of structure and form.

Look below, where water creates a new color scheme, No perfect reflection, but fractured cattails

This pen is drained. The barrel’s dry.

An inveterate die-hard listmaker The Buddha