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The new child
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The Election
A poet thrives on mortal wounds
The Election
America is a land
untitled
The days of my life are numbered
The frozen winter froths at the bit
America is as a schoolyard
Remember
I wear the cloak of death
The demon comes in the middle of the night
I like my bed
The new child
If you were a candle
Divorce is a child
There's the door
The Jesus junkie
To my ex
Slow children
Can medals hold a child
The silence of spring
The very nature of my soul
For Robin Andrews 1982-2000
Something inside is broken
For T.
I am only one small and fragile thing
Mission statement rant
Floating submerged
Coos Bay love song
Freedom of Speech
The Indominatable Spirit
Where were you?
Sunday Drivers
Life is a film...
The new child,
born of blood and water,
lies still
and breathless
on it's mother's breast.
 
The silent air,
thick and tense
with the heavy breathing
of labor done,
waits frantically
for life to begin.
 
I pat the small
purple feet
and weep
at the biggest word,
that beautiful scream
of life on the loose.

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