This is a poem about smoking. Burning through a pack of Ten. Ten moments in time. Ten streams of conciousness. Ten pauses.   The first? A smoke screen hiding inner fears. The second blasts the fear, yes every trace. Third one ¬†blows up clouds that squeeze out ashen tears; Fourth a signal, steeling jaw in … More Beacons


For this, your birthday gift, an artichoke. Heart flower of my soul and mind and being. For you, in all my life, more than all folk, Have opened me to life, and growth and seeing. As petals strip you off one at a time, Know that I give myself to you this way. I want … More Birthday