When they left, when they trotted off to play war
They were fresh, from some mid-west high school,
Athletic letterman’s jackets and class rings
they love to sing songs their father sung when they were young
when they were their age, when they were fresh
Classic melodies, timeless harmonies
Sung off key by 4 South Dakota boys in a poorly armored Humvee
45 mph down a dusty Baghdad street
the words removed them briefly from the anxiety, the intensity
the propensity of bullets and bombs gravitating towards American soldiers
the tune soldiers on from cautious voices

I’ve lived in Los Angeles for a little over three years.
In that time, I’ve paid almost $1,000 in parking tickets.

In a lorikeet cave
motions exist of disintegrated swans
in a translocated lake
brimming with harvested poisons
sealed by corruptive post-mortems

You talk ecstatically
about your future
vagina. (Insert my
response here.)

Interrogative sentence:
How can you sound the same when you’re not?

After the success of the 2008 HBO Emmy award-winning documentary, “The Art of Failure: Chuck Connelly Not for Sale”, (which documented his slow and shaky rise back to the top of the art world) Connelly is being honored with a retrospective of his work.