When things go from bad to verse.

A poem written on the occasion of moving back to Queens after years away and once again riding the N train.
Mechanisms for transmitting words and thoughts and emotions across the gulfs of time and space are not exclusively recent phenomena.
This morning I came downstairs to find that you’d thrown out all the pictures of us.
A few lines in support of the proposition that a little whiskey never hurt a poem.
You used to be such a sweet boy, tell me everything, ask me all your questions. What happened to you?
Sometimes it takes a very special terrier to remind us humans that we’re more alike than we may want to think, and to bring out our latent civility.
A poem written on the occasion of encountering an online news article featuring a close relative.
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