We have hidden storage zones underneath the bed platform where dead stuff is buried to be returned for future use – or sometimes just withdrawn – one step away from donation to Goodwill, or the nearest homeless shelter that needs it. There’s an old iMac boxed there,
Where begins this triune explanation? This three-in-one, this sacred trinity? “Up from the grave he arose.” Each person has her own chronology. Mine…
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This poem won't have meaning in the future: after the fall, after the sheer collapse of all our forevers. Why write it then? Some scholar, looking back…
A few years back me and my baby (not meaning to objectify in any way) on a lark took a bus trip to Montserrat to see Our Lady, the black Madonna. It was…
I’m so sick of hearing about cryptocurrencies, and about the great deals to buy it constantly invading my Instagram message box. Take some advice from…
Life is epic poetry, or maybe a series of short stories, or a heroic crown of sonnets carefully and expertly crafted. You choose the poison and set the…
Everything ain’t gonna be OK. Prices of gas and groceries rising faster than we can keep up with. Crime in the cities at an all-time high – random…
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Raymond’s Original Poetry Newsletter