He was named for a specific kind of bread.
Push skis over sites of minor construction, through the blending of frozen varieties.
Battle Ms. Pacman in the concrete lounge. She indulges in your dots.
Stop leaving me in a
don't leave him in a
would you like to be in a
Hats are for losers. Who cares if that's where you lose all your heat.
Call home collect because your change departed.
Recall the dots.
Check the zippers for ripples and catches: be aerodynamic.
Lean close and the seat of the chair becomes less parallel. Take the longer way down
to ski off the edge. Plant your tails and stretch the T-bar out as far as it will go.
You left me in a lurch right after I left you in a lurch.
How does the Addams Family fit into all of this.
Back away and give me another word from the 1800s.
Human interaction is just about impossible even as I'm used to tall dogs.
He is beneath the chair.
Under my skis.
Author Discusses Poems