Randall Livingston Poems

When I was a kid I loved to dig holes
There's a part of me that must have been mole.
Holes got bigger and deeper as I aged.
My utensils went from spoon to spade.
...

She'd leave the door partly open
and undress.
I was fourteen.
She was forty.
...

Tomorrow is an empty promise.
A blank cheque written
against today.
On a account full
...

There's something about feeling different.
It's like sailing without an anchor.
Tossed about the foamy waves
of antipathy and rancor.
...

I remember at the age of eighteen that
nothing seemed to make sense.
The landscape was mean,
and I was just dense.
...

He sold aluminum siding for a living.
Traveled far and wide.
Convincing the good folk his product
would keep the elements outside.
...

I purchased an item and I was happy
for about a minute.
There's just no percentage in it.
They make it like crack.
...

A grain of sand washed up, washed out.
Born of fear,
full of doubt.
Ego striving
...

I didn't know you had trouble at home,
but I know how it is when you feel so alone.
Yet the game face comes on and
nothing is wrong till you twist the knob
...