Professor Plum Poems

wherewithal for your thoughts make
that two bartender music man

her fists were cumulus clouds
...

i poured a poesy
from a jar in a field

full of two-petaled
...

with the fuzzy edges of her floating
down to the smooth riverside boulders
with all those pebbles in her pockets
drifting without bizarre hesitation
...

it screamed through trees
while they giggled and
gulped beer eager for the
wreck of 1891
...

I poured myself
down the hallway
my hips
...