Regardless of the election.

There’s a sewer pipe

in the dark, by the L.A. river

like a grave in the ground

where people sleep

by the highway, by the neighborhood

where pumpkins soon

will be replaced by

feasts of Turkey, stuffing, corn

and carefully locked doors,

then to be replaced by balsams and fern

white lights and tender eyes

of Christmas morning,

regardless of the hole by the L.A. river

where people sleep

live, and love—and pray, regardless

of the election, regardless

of the president

I still weep.

Do you?

LA River. Nov 7, 2020

The Presidential Debate

You’ll see what you want to see

and believe what you already believe

so, eh, yah—

what more is there to say about the

Presidential Debate?

Dire times as these.

In times like these
when nothing is longer shocking
than the president’s next tirade,

what more is there to write,
what more is there to speak of?

In such dire times as these
write more about love, it’s amazing, really
that love can exist,

in such dire times as these.