These poems are written now and then, in a state of mind I don't understand. Each poem has its context, each story a story behind it. I rarely know what's going to come out when I start, when I see myself opening up, and out.
Out they come, for me to wonder about later in time.
Unlike essays they don't explain, they don't give rational, logic, sources, no fact. Instead words jumble into a pattern likely to result in your own thoughts, your own emotions.
The short stories tend to be very short. Reality is to played with, not fixed, nor certain.
Bits of Love
Jesus lost his mind
the men taking risks
as one hero kills another
memories are real
the corrupt victims
looking into the eyes
television is real - but we're not
the cynic -unreadable