Destiny is asmiling bastardriding a motorcyclethrough theneighborhood, laughingat children playing inyards, eaten by worms andtime.PinkgreenwhiteKeliedescope confusion on allthe cat's faces.Providence is a stealthy hunter.

Without poetry, we'd allbe chained to fences of time.locked in,torn apart,played with by thecosmic dance.Don't get me wrong,the poems can'tcure cancer, or heal thelame dog's leg.But, they might givethe whores hope, and thehobos a home.Poetry tricks the mindinto seeing...

Those silver cans ofgovernment meat, seton the table with a redand white checkeredtablecloth.An old yellow light hungon a chain illuminatingthe can of meat.It tasted like flavorlessgum.It seemed like a mish-mashof byproducts that no oneelse wanted.Mom always tried to makea...

In all the smashed cats on the road days ofhungover afternoons, and empty pocketmornings, one constant wherever I waswere the trips to the library.I read most everything back then:HamsunHemingwaySteinbeckFitzgeraldEugene O’Neill, and Gogol,and always Bukowski.They were my lighthouse in theabysmal...

I sleep with mytop hat on these days.It keeps the rabbits fromcrawling out and runningaway.They are the safest close tomy brain when I sleep.I don't want them eaten byferal swine or to wanderoff and drown in a vat of...