Monday, September 6, 2010. Saturday, September 4, 2010. The Writer Buries Himself in The Mud Until The Next Rainy Season. Where, once again,. Thursday, September 2, 2010. After taking his sweet time. Nibbling at his last meal. As the preacher tried hard. To console him with passages. From the Bible he never read. And telling Bad Chester Ryan.

All the archives will stay up here at AM 2. For everyone to read whenever they want. Once again, thanks to all readers and poets alike.

Thursday, April 1, 2010. It passes by my door. But I need a beer. Loneliness does not come from. Looking up at the sky. Or walking alone at night.

Poems moved to OP 2. On the asphalt flesh road. Used condoms and Taco Bell wrappers. Anything for a taste of the lost time. Because of the traffic suicides.

Monday, August 16, 2010. Medical Exam, age 38. Revolving in a gelatin eyeball. Waiting for my own little execution. Are always cold and impersonal. In a few minutes,. Wearing a snow white smock. Will be asking me to cough. And grope at my manhood. In the same impersonal manner in which. He was reaching for his morning. Impinging upon my shy skin.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015. If I could play guitar. For all the fiery red anarchists. Who threw bombs at the police in alleys. And drew funny little cartoons. Each with a heart bigger than. After the police opened fire.

A Poetry Collective by M. This amazing shot was captured in rural Arizona. Welcome to a Wild Wonderful Western World. This magical photograph was taken at Arches National Park, Utah. This little hiding place was a great way to stay out of the hot September sun. I have come to cherish the high desert for its vast solitude and grand vistas. There is no place like it anywhere else on Earth.

To those who take displeasure in its self-proclaimed nautical nonsense is one of the most difficult tasks a person can embark on. Like many episodes of the show,.