Journal links:
- Subtle Tea: A Furniture Hoarder's Confession
- Able Muse: Breakfast in Winter
- Foliate Oak: A Thousand Apologies
- Virgogray press: Steps on Being You
- Tryst 3: Dance of the Deer
- Deuce Coupe: Walking Backwards
- The Legendary: Belongings
- Decompression: Letter to a Flower Monger
- The Boston Literary Review: The Buttefly Room
- Toasted Cheese: "When the Leaves were Bare
- The Coachella Review: "April Visit"
- Past Simple 7: "Best Behavior"
- Umbrella/Bumbershoot Annual: "Will Work for Ants"
- decomP: " Just Desserts"
- Strong Verse: " Eight in the Morning"
- Thick with Conviction: " Mother of the Emperor"
- The Smoking Poet: "Forgive Me"

- Tipton: " After She's Gone"
- Blueprint Review 'rereads'
- Best Poem: "The Waiting Room"
- The Cleave:"One Last Thing"
- The Battered Suitcase: "S'agao"
- The Ghazal Page
- Shine Journal:" The Soothsayer"
- The Boston Literary Review: "What I Never Said"
- Sacramento Poetry Art & Music: "Revelations"
- Silenced Press: "Thoughts with Beethoven"
- Moondance: "Unwinged"

Without Reason
( Pushcart nomination from Joyful!)
Because in the midst of a rainstorm
a tree can be halved by lightning
and spare one survivor between Heaven
and home, and sometimes water
can flow from the tub, seep though
a floor of another man’s ceiling
who’s thankful for rain when his
dwelling is parched, and because
speech is occasionally slurred from
the onset of illness rather than gin
proven by doctors in search of a cure
and sometimes a woman will die
in childbirth before the infant is placed
on her belly, for the joy of life
and being a mother. Because of this
I’ll write you a poem, imagine you
reading this hodgepodge of lines,
with a need for hope and hands raised
high, for the craving of fingers wrap
around fingers, connecting souls
in a manmade steeple. Because
of this I’ll write you a poem and a poem
and a poem, until we know all that we
don’t; until we embrace all that we aren’t,
until we are in awe of the universe
and forever united within these words.
Because in the midst of a rainstorm
a tree can be halved by lightning
and spare one survivor between Heaven
and home, and sometimes water
can flow from the tub, seep though
a floor of another man’s ceiling
who’s thankful for rain when his
dwelling is parched, and because
speech is occasionally slurred from
the onset of illness rather than gin
proven by doctors in search of a cure
and sometimes a woman will die
in childbirth before the infant is placed
on her belly, for the joy of life
and being a mother. Because of this
I’ll write you a poem, imagine you
reading this hodgepodge of lines,
with a need for hope and hands raised
high, for the craving of fingers wrap
around fingers, connecting souls
in a manmade steeple. Because
of this I’ll write you a poem and a poem
and a poem, until we know all that we
don’t; until we embrace all that we aren’t,
until we are in awe of the universe
and forever united within these words.
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