Feed peace not fear, make spoon not war.

The whispers inside the red wheelbarrow’s dew.

It was evening and would be when I woke. No matter. From the maple tree the Red-tail spoke.

The whispers inside the red wheelbarrow's dew.

I should no longer define myself as the son of a father who couldn’t or hasn’t or wouldn’t or wasn’t.

A counter to a jab is a left hook. What’s the counter to prejudice?

Ultimate vulnerability. That’s manly.

There was a sound you could smell / like you were inhaling tomorrow.

Naming nature doesn't tame nature.

Dew moves mountains.