All Things Have
nothing said of
you being gone - and yet,
these fading calls of geese winging
away . . .
sharpened fine steel
forged in the fires of Hell,
burning red coals that keep your heart
Call Me Irresponsible
hookey from work,
and still stealing melons -
with luck, some of us never will
grow up . . .
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4, No. 4
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All poems are copyright © 2006 by their respective authors.