There are dayswhen the fatrain beats thetent like a snaredrum.Sleep is impossible,a distantmemory from youth.Beautiful flowers die,and green isn't quitegreen enough.It turns to olive brown,then black.People don't behaveand we can't make them.I hope there isrest when it's allsaid and...

Of all the literarydevices, my favoriteone is living.There's no substitute.As poets, we pull back thecurtain to our view of life.You can shape your craft asyou go.Metaphors will come allover the page.Your imagery will becomepencil-sharp and vivid.Be patient.If you don't...

Hope migrates tosunny island shores.There is no sorrow,roses always bloom,and the birds of paradisefly forever free.The salty oceancleanses the rotfrom the skinand the heart.

It didn't matter if it wasAugust, and the air felt like anoven on broil, or if it wasFebruary, and the dumpsterswere icecicles to the soul.We needed booze, and since wedidn't have jobs, the cans, at5 cents a piece were...

We became friends later.On that day we werecombatants.Two kids trying toprove their manhood.I circled left, shot a quickjab.I missed and Doug laughed.He hit me fast with a right.Laughed again.I circled right, this time myjab landed.There was a gush ofblood...