ADORESIXTYFOUR

In the urinal at work my piss stream looked like a mushroom cloud.

The Christmas lights have all winked out And Daley Plaza's bare; Cards, though few they were, packed up as if they're never there...

White flowers incline toward the sun; they know their time is near. Around them, the leaves wilt and brown; their time's already here...

The locust trees in Seward Park are mostly golden now. Sharp, small leaves are spinning down from nearly every bough. Shadows stretch an...

Sparrows and robins hop across the lawn before La Casa del Terror to beak the oatmeal bread I lobbed there on my way out the beaten do...

The sun pummels down the eastbound avenue welding eyes and smiles into well-forged winces. Just as well since it's just a preview ...

Don't need the pierce of the cheap beat-up Target alarm clock to let me know morning's unavoidably here. The sweat canalling ...

At the corner of State and Madison the heat has melted much of the color from the world leaving behind little but baked air.

Flowering tree sways fragrant in the filtered rays just out of dawn's grasp.

Leaves are already Golding and falling. Autumn Is just breaths away.

Dappled maple trees sway along my walk to work, their leaves soon to drop.

A small black dot with eight thin legs executes silken scrimshaw within the shadow of my medicine cabinet.

Gold locust leaves caught in the webbing spread outside my bedroom window.

Seven sparrows hop and dance between and around the black wheels of the cart parked on the green corner where the man in the white...

The following poem was written a long time ago in honor of a then-coworker who was moving on to another job, and I'd meant to post it h...

The same notebook has numerous other fragments, most undated but likely written to the left or the right of the New Millennium. So I have no...

I have many old notebooks in various places in La Casa del Terror. Most are old journals (yes, even in this electronic age, I still keep a p...

There was a time a few years ago when I wrote haiku--three-line poems with syllable limits on each line of five, seven and five--with fair r...

Brown squirrel on peak of gray garage roof reaches up for dangling green seeds from maple bough and feasts.

I don't think anyone has ever asked me, "Of all of the poems you've ever written, which one is your favorite?" If anyone h...