The sun was far away, 
but I followed it, chased it,
to the very end.

I looked at that star
and looked some more then I looked 
at that star again. 

I was feeling down
then I took a walk with my 
daughter. Now I feel fine.

Love isn't always 
pure. Sometimes it's sad, lonely,
and unrequited.

America needs a
Robin Hood and a few
good Merry Men, too.

The opossum was tired
and angry. He had reason.
Daylight was not his friend.

I don't know about
you, girl, but wearing glass slippers 
would really suck.

Goodnight, train whistle.
Goodnight, sleepy daughter.
Goodnight, birds. Goodnight, moon.

You're my sun and I 
the planet that our little 
moons orbit around.

As I fold the paper,
lick the envelope and 
cap the pen I smile.

That penthouse view looks
great from down here. I wonder
if it's as great up there.

The spring rain is so
small and light. Different from the
heavy, grey fall rain.

There's no irony here.
I really do feel like 
a rat in a cage.

Last night there were 
only a few blossoms. Today 
they're in abundance.

I'm barefoot, pregnant
and in the kitchen and it's 
fuckin' hot in here.

"What are words for
when no one listens?
There's no use talking at all."

There's no ghosts in this
house. If there were I'd punch
the fuckers in the neck.

I never thought I'd
fall in love with the girl with 
olive-colored eyes.

Climbing up from the
hole I dug is tiresome. I 
shouldn't've dug so deep.

I'm searching for a 
quiet place to get away. 
Some place permanent. 

Why does that cat
always run from Pepe? The pleasure's 
all mine Monsieur Le Pew.

My soul could've been
from any dimension and
it'd still've found yours.

The cityscape reeked
of mold. From the homes
to the trees to the people.

Today I draw strength
from my spirit animals 
Werewolf and Unicorn.

There's not much to say
when you're happy. There's a whole 
lot to feel instead.

Confuscious say,
Never write mad haiku for each 
day the birds still sing.

The wind will have its
way and I will let the wind
take me anywhere.

The birds were chirping.
I listened close and they said,
"Tweedlee, tweedlee dee."

My heart was on the 
ground, but I still had two hands
to pick it up with.

The sky turned pink at
sunset. Blushing, like I'd 
caught it undressing.

"There goes my baby.
She knows how to rock and roll.
She drives me crazy!"

At moments I feel
this life is not my own and
I'm lucky to exist.

On the back cover
there was a name, an address 
and a phone number.

Sorry spider
My kid insisted we go this way
Wrecking your home

Kinda like how you
run through the grass dragons like 
to fly through the sky.

It said, Super Eight
Hilltop New Orleans Oxford 
Suites, inside the cover.

The old man walked 
all over town. The scenery 
was subsequent. 

The skinned steer hung
from the tree and waited. It would
be getting dark soon.

Swimming up river
ain't easy, but what the hell?
The salmon do it.

Tension working magic
between our bodies. Sounds 
no one else can hear.

The low hum of 
people talking could've been 
mistaken for music.

The younger wanted
to slow the river. The elder
knew it could not be.

The wind shook the blinds
and I could hear them clink and 
 bang all through the night.

I'm gonna live to
a ripe old age and then I'm gonna
live a little more.

I wonder about
my place in the world and then
I see the tree sway.

Son, yesterday's gone
down the river and you can't
never get her back.

Don't worry your heart
over it. Nothing in this 
world is definite.

Spooked not by ghosts
of the past, but of my 
own heart's longing.  

I don't know much, but 
I know one thing for sure. The life of
a pirate is short.

It's eating all that
bread that makes me really 
appreciate the cake.

If you don't have 
something nice to say about someone
come sit by me.

Sitting beneath the 
stars I could feel their heat like a
path straight to my heart.

The halls are full of
secrets and the walls know all 
too well their dark hearts.

I'm like a machine.
A hard-workin', well oiled, turbo
charged machine.

My desk is the floor.
Right next to me: my daughter,
for whom I ghost-write.

Our past's not a place
to view failures, but the grounds
to raise expectations. 

The more I think
about it the more I realize
everything's magic.

The skies portraying
my heart.  Clouds, rain, a bit of
sun. Stormy weather. 

"Morning sun stripes cell.
Five fingers feel my hard heart.
It hurts, hurts like hell."
                   -Frederick J. Frenger, Jr.

Spirits in the swamps,
spirits in the weeds, souls in the trees,
souls in the seas. 

Just watching my little 
TV in the kitchen, barefoot
and pregnant.

If I never wear
another pair of rain boots
it'll be too soon.

Some days there's so
much love inside me I have to
cry to get it out.

When I think of how
small I am in this big world
it gives me great comfort.

A poem for every
day. A day for every poem.
Today's that day.

My spirit animal
duals between the werewolf
and the unicorn.

Wearing my heart on
my sleeve, while it's heavy and 
bare, you know me well.

Thinking about self.
Or selves, 'cause right now there's
lots of them to think of.

Some days a smile 
and hello really is way too
much to ask of me.

The cowboy's truck broke
down under a streetlamp. Drawing
that much more attention.

The werewolf cannot
be held responsible for he 
knows not what he does.
                            -Michael Hurley

Many times I have
wished that my dad would tell me 
more about himself.

The moment when you
realize the life you've been living
must change. And fast.

There was once a time
when the rain comforted me, 
but that is not now.

You know, even in
the game of Monopoly there's a
"share the wealth" card.

I haven't seen a 
bird for days. Even they know
to move south each year.

Oh, I'd like to 
get away. To a place where 
nobody knows my name.

I don't regret a 
whole lot, however, I should've 
been a lounge singer.

There are times when I 
want to fly away from everything
and everyone.

The babe inside me 
knows no other home. Only
the waters he breathes.

The way the palm and 
the pine were living together
made me happy.

If there's a will there's
a way. If there isn't that way
there's another way.

The layers of colored
mountains faded until they looked
like the sky. 

There was a desert,
some snow, mountains, beaches and
then a rain forest.

There is a deep ache
that's hard to ignore at times 
or most of the time.

Pulling my body
away from this desert is
like leaving a lover.

There was a quail on
a rock near the cactus and they 
looked so pretty.

I felt like the
minority. I was the only one
without a tan.

The moon was so full
last night. Much like the sun was 
the day before.

From afar it
looked like palm, but close up
it was more like rosemary.

I felt a kinship
to the tumbleweed.
Like we were on the same journey.

The land does not
belong to us, but rather we
belong to the land. 

The red soil was
calling me, "Michelle,  roll around in me.
Paint yourself red!"

The Texan sky is
so quiet you can only hear
those big, bright stars.

The heat makes me smile.
The sun makes me shine. 
The desert is where I flower.

We learn from our past,
plan for our future and live 
each day like it's the last.

I tried to write a
haiku for the mosquito. Instead 
I just watched him.

Feeling like a lone
Northwestern star drifting through
this vast Lone Star state.

The sun, swollen and gold,
hovered over the land saying his
last goodnights. 

We may lose more 
often than we win, but rarely
do we give up.