Poetry

Even Crosby, Stills and Nash fail to release the lazy suction pull- ing her into listless boredom. Smoothing a stubborn

Echoes, winding through time, remaining the remnants of before, hollow reminders calling from every- where, coming from nowhere, start sud-

She was gift-wrapped just for you in the prettiest paper she could find, and tied with a ribbon to match

We sat and watched the leaves, and children played In parks where flowers bloomed and grass was green We didn’t

Tonight, I’ll level this house. But now, to save myself, here’s a hemlock created to keep me sane: Valium soaked

Autumn words mean September sighs And December saying, “Sorry,” As snow begins to cover any bare essence still blooming. You’re