A verse from the title poem in the collection, Reminiscences of My Dead-end Street
The con men are holding a permanent convention here,
Professing the sky to be falling, to instill happiness and fear.
And the joker and the thief, have struck the great deal,
One gives you laughter, the other robs your last meal.
But you’ve been killed by the laughter, and they just sit around and eat.
They’re just some of the many that you’ll meet, on my dead-end street.
The new poetry collection, On Driftwood and Oblivion is out now.