brian on the go-->

.  . .. through the cold iron shove     of a stranger’s winter night, all too familiar. Pour the heart into a tumbler. Hot water and whiskey...

The Hawk-Browed Man The cruel joke by God; that cunning and sly, malicious jester: I could never be satisfied if love did not leave me wanti...

I have ego enough to pick up this pen, yet lack the courage for inner-most reflection. My pride tells me you want to know who I am, yet t...

In springtime the wrong plants grow. Pungent smells of rancid blossoms flood the nostrils of girls wearing sundresses who stop to smell the ...

Published poems are written by someday-professors for someday-professors. Poets do not get published because publishers don't know what ...

I took a detour in Colorado to see Royal Gorge. I wound up hills, and steeper ones. I arrived. A parking lot surrounded by a wooden fence, ...

I take joy in the bullshit, so much so I no longer recognize my lack of sincerity. I used to would at least explain away my reasons, ...