This is the first in a series of poems I'm going to publish here on the blog (and on Facebook). While I've published poetry with plenty of lit mags in the past, I've decided to publish them myself this time. See how it goes. I'm not so concerned with the publishing designation or prestige as I was in the past, so why not? Interested to know whether these find an audience. Here's the first one, written I think in summer of 2008, during the time I was working at Crosscut.com half-time while also writing a corporate history for Documentary Media. It's one of only a handful of poems I penned that truly busy year. Please feel free to comment or critique. Mainly, I just like to play with words and story.
The Clothes Make the ManDon’t be sorry that you
snagged the sari,
tripped the swatch,
switched the workstyle
while wearing a habit.
Dagnabit, the prospector said,
while filling his gold tooth
decay of our moral fiber.
They found trace metals
on his coat, linking him to the time.
A screech, a roar, a gurgle:
what children have to say.
He swayed in the wind,
getting stronger. I wish
the world would cut me
some slacks.


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