It’s raining, again./
Explain your flirt style, and when/
you do, use small words.

I hope you still know,/
both in sunshine or moon’s glow,/
your prettiness shows.

On I-5 from Canby/
I had 2 let her go./
It wasn’t up 2 me;/
she left long b4./
Ignoring who she was,/
what she could b,/
I missed my shot,/
got left/
on I-5 from Canby.

The pain/
of not hearing from u/
is exceeded only by fear/
there’s someone new/
and the knowledge that u/
decided we are through./
All combined,/
that makes me blue.

Jackson Browne/
came into town!/
In my canoe/
you can hear him, too!/
Although it’s late,/
don’t hesitate!/
Starts at . . . 7.

Our lesson is on charity./
2 visit the sick, poor, lonely./
It’s something I try 2 do./
2 ask ‘How r u?’/
But for 3 years I’ve been lonely./
Y does no one love me?

Why is there/
erotic art anger?/
Every participant/
I’ve yet met/
has some gripe, rant/
or grievance to vent./
Erotic joy lives in their works./
So y are they jerks?

I thought we’d always care./
I thought we’d always share/
stuff/
and being stuffed./
That wasn’t enough./
You’ve turned a bend/
toward an end/
I didn’t see,/
without me

I got beat by Cougar bait./
Who can blame her?/
She won’t wait!/
36, 34, 35:/
No kids has he./
Still very alive,/
unlike me./
Sad poetry./
2 old, 2 late/
2b Cougar bait

The day the muse died,/
it just happened;/
a complete surprise./
No warning,/
no call,/
no death knell at all./
Just silence.