In some world music,/
they throw out song challenges./
I hurl them right back.

I wrote her so late,/
she thought I was a vampire./
Not hearing her sucks.

We don’t like “that way”,/
but when you’re silent, I still/
find me missing you.

I want 2 share/
my unreasonableness./
What will I dare?/
U’ll never guess!/

I’ll stand on the corner/
of a town’s Main Street/
and improv poetry/
for people I meet!

Was last ev’ning’s wave/
an unexpected farewell?/
An unseen adieu?

She told me never/
to talk of bad examples./
I won’t speak of her.

My light blue/
river canoe /
awaits you/
if you want to/
find peace and tranquility/
away from the city.

I wore my old stinky parka
because I was afraid of freezing.
Then, one day, I felt the warmth
of the sun on my face.

So I unzipped it,
pulled it off,
threw it away,
and stood there in my swim trunks and t-shirt.

And the sun was warm,
and the air was calm,
and though the lake still had ice,
the geese were flying north.

I jumped in
over my head,
and washed myself
in the frigid water.

And when I climbed out over the
slippery, ice-covered rocks,
I was clean, and refreshed,
and alive, and warm.

I left my stinky parka by the shore
and walked away.
The stink wasn’t on me.
It was something I carried.

“He is playing out of his league: A self-professed looser who wears his desperation like a cheap cologne, and his intensity like an old sharkskin suit with matching gold Wayne Newton commemorative medallion nestled in the V formed by a shirt with one too many buttons unbuttoned, resting on the top of a bulging gut that could double as a martini holder.”

I’m not so goofy/
that I don’t care, nor so smart/
that I still don’t hurt.