diane allen Poems

little waco is on the map of the
consciousness of america. validated
by a wacko fanatic whose followers,
those lost sheep of humanity,
...

i should think now,
since doves have
vanished into murky
remnants of gutter
...

dark mirror, hiding
away the begging hours
of finicky time, we flush
with pleasure when you
...

a terrier died this morning. a dreary cold and windy morning. wet from all of the rains yesterday.

how does one keep a still mind?
...