Good News


Splitting my back

Washed out

Washed up

Birds silent under traffic

Traffic is all I heard

Change in jars

(not enough quarters

Only nasty copper)

My nose an oozing wound

On my face


I’m looking for good news

In every bottle I find

Lifting my pen

To defend myself

Cutting the clouds

With my own protesting


Showering under the pale


I’ll pretend to be a

Bald face moon




Thanks for coming to see

Me yesterday

You looked like a sweet

Tired stain

To my heavy head and

In my favorite story