Mark Millspaugh Poems

Sharp is the smell of inanimate beings
Crushing the breath out of once life-giving
Creatures who reap the plight that their
Artificial gods have them bear
...

I can feel death
or maybe I crave it
every time I see her
passed out on the couch
...

When a breeze of morning moves
And the planet of love's on high
We will see the inner jewels
That can open up our eyes
...