My words will never be chiseled into stone buildings Or quoted by third graders while a flag waives at them Their scaffolding is frail and the craft would fail inspection They are just digestible snacks on a long bus ride.
Eclogues
This is the main hub for all content. Most poems were written by me but any poem that was crafted by someone else will be noted as EP or Extra Poet.
Reset
Your life should be Like a glitchy PC I'm rebooting To start it over
Dash of Salt
It just stung a bit Two warm tears tried to escape A futile attempt AG
Open Boarders
So where shall we begin this mobile conversation My absent fathers side or selfish mothers corner The orange crusted ax needs bark to target I have a tight grip and brought my finest gloves The grippy aero dynamic type for max comfort Would these be ideal starting horns, if so I'll swing Releasing the tension … Continue reading Open Boarders
A Day In Yonkers
A creaky brown door ushered them in Glove warm gray floors cushioned their steps The dog saw him kiss her peach pale neck Then press hips; darkening the stamp In the early morning the shadow was gone Ag
Bite Size
Dance nude in the streets Jiggle, giggle and enjoy Memories dress you AG
Hunter Mountain On A Saturday
It was five degrees today, with a crisp slapping wind Brown eyes watered, cried while being interrogated Dry pretzel fingers cuffed to icicled black gloves Nervously smoked like frail perspiring cigarettes I still poured through the snow; Bustelo riding on leche Amaury
After Work
My D train was full and shivering today Elbows fought for space on the pole while Others tried to squeeze in; creating spaces That were not there just three minutes ago This seems to be the winter norm now Transient mixed cattle being transported On powdered rails of smooth hammered steel We are all trying … Continue reading After Work
South Of Canal St.
Whistling winds fill broken brick alleys Newspapers drift with crumpled fingerprints Damp cotton smothers an illuminated rolling moon Echoing tunnels rumble with metal worms on silted tracks Street lamps walk across coiled ropes, attracting a crowd Turning heads clockwise like orange caps on a medicine bottle
The Plate
Caribbean platanos in a large white blue rosed plate Tsssts, Tsssts frying pan stirring on Saturday morning The aroma of yellow sweetness dancing Bachata I tried to seal one or two Sacking San Francisco during the rush Tried to kidnap those golden coins But a wooden spoon always swooped down They were not alone Tsssts, … Continue reading The Plate
The Eclogues 
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