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.