Exciting news!

My FITNESS FOR POETS weekly poem has become
a MONTHLY letter as I shift focus to my first book– a magical realism memoir in verse about dancing away those early Art school days.

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The Meaning of Life?

The Meaning of Life?

is even MORE of a conundrum
when you must 
make something of it.
Especially now, 

when it’s been so very easy

to become disconsolate.

Roots clenched, 
heart pounding at dawn,
eyes rolling out 
from under the couch
where the bulbs 
were planted last year–

Just go and grow?
But we’ve been holding 
on for so long! 


Inertia 


actually appreciates 


this sort of 


fecundity?


*second syllable, above 
We’ve got to get 
back there if we want to 
make a fresh start.
Yes, I said fresh.


One drop at a time,
(we survived!)
just stand there for now;
see what comes out.


A little bit each day?


Could be a start.