ON CROSSING THE STREET

At the streetcorner he looks thick and straight,
like a man waiting to run the bulls -
but his first

This world can be so cruel and tough.

Sometimes even hard to survive.

I wouldn’t be standing here,

If He hadn’t

My Egg Shell

Pressure to make money,
Pressure to get by,
Pressure to live,
Pressuring my head in a vice,
I try.

A million little

Black Sheet

I lay bedridden on this oak,

when out from my closet

appears a pitched, muslin cloak.

If it's not Death to warn