From the bark of a sequestered oak, my tome-shanty, I never laid claimed to be a synonym or any other glamor to fame, by writing perfect words.Just a bookshop keeper with a mellow heart and a bobbin for a...

She sat across from me, a silhouette against the flickering bulb, her perfume a poison I was already inhaling. She was the kind of trouble that wore a lipstick smile and a story full of holes like asphalt."He's a...

As if a poet with one clue with a wooden heart, I whittleLike a ne'er–do–well, in my earthly attireBound by webs of frost, at the window sash Haphazardly, at times I ramble, without a thought, just naughtWith a splash of...

I was in my car not far...not far from New Brunswick,between hither and thither,down a dairy-dell roadand a Granny Smith orchard.As I came across an old-line poet,sitting in a straight back chair,sucking on a lime and sipping tequila,as he...