Why?

Because I enjoy writing, particularly letters and, sometimes, poems.

Because I am too much alone, or at least, too much in isolation.

Because I need conversation.

Because this could be a useful means of staying in touch with lots of people I already know, and connecting with many more I've yet to meet...

(Of course, most writing is by its very nature self-indulgent and narcissistic. I'm mentioning that because I plan on putting up some of my own poems here, in the hopes of entertaining readers and eliciting comment, as well. Entonces, nos vemos!)

Clever Crow


In the doctor's parking lot

you wonder what we've eaten

to see us go in and out,

arranging ourselves briskly:


flesh we are afraid of.

Ulcerated, inoperable.

Lump. Bruise. Scar.

Its abundance scares us

enough to stare


at office art, blandly hung

opposite a fat brunette,

her skirt too short for so much

darkness and warmth

flashing


while you wait for a car,

another beak tearing open

the next meal.

(Scavenger, do not laugh at me.)