I've missed posting poems daily, am trying to get back into that groove. To get me going, here's one I drafted in Rome in June 2008. It's a hybrid, part poem, part flash fiction, part something else.
Dime Novel: The Pantheon
I know their hurt.
Each one its own kind.
Being the accused.
The accuser.
Wronged.
Wrong.
She's almost crying.
Self defense exhausts her.
She's alone. He's tired
of all that.
I never said YOU,
she insists, I SAID 'WE.'
But he knows
what he heard.
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