Hello!

As I’m wrapping up editing of my new book, COMFORT, which will officially be released this fall, I wanted to share one of the poems.

Thank you so much for following along as this book has slowly come together. This poem is only one of the many poems reviewers have said they love. In fact, one mentor of mine called this and one other poem in the book “remarkable.”

I’ve posted this poem with a little more explanation of where it came from and what it means to me and an exclusive reading over on Patreon for my patrons, if you’d like to join me over there.

Tell me what you think! I’d love to get your feedback.

Thank you.

P.

Last Time We Talked

Me and Mike Marley, Mike Marley and me made
what-ifs of Walt Whitman and whatchamacallthese. 
We wrote writs and wagged wits and waged wars. 
Today, to this day, it's too tough to think of
him. How is he, his happenings, how happy is he?
He's hung his hat or hardened his heart. He's 
possibly playing the piano, pounding the porcelain
keys. Kicking. Killing? In Kabul?
Could be crying. Could be cringing. Catching me
looking. Leering into the layers of the labyrinth. 
Sweetly spinning, sickeningly spiraling, swapping
revolutions. Ready to resolve what's ripping us. 
Reaping what's been retched from Republicans. 
Democracy's dying, and dear darlings
gnashing and gnarring, getting gnarled in the globe's great cities. 
Mike Marley, Mike Marley, what do you make of me?
All these annals after, I'm asking about
you. Yearning the yearner. Yet you'll
never know I'm needlessly kneading my knuckles, 
forgetting I'm forgotten, fact or fiction? 
Me and Mike Marley, Mike Marley and me, made
wholes in the hollows and halves out of the holes. 
Have you had your humility? How have you 
been?