Sunday, December 26, 2021

Writing By Wayne F. Burke

This writing I do

may add up to

something: some

kind of living is

my hope, which

is a joke. Maybe

a grant, but who will

grant it? Maybe a

position, top or

bottom (I will take

either). Most of my

words will go, I fear

with me onto the

funeral pyre.






Wayne F. Burke's poetry has been widely published online and in print. He has published six full-length poetry collections, most recently DIFLUCAN (BareBack Press, 2019). He lives in the Pine Tree State.

1 comment:

Weep Yourself to Sleep By Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

You weep yourself to sleep. You wake up with dried tears. You feel as if a cold river flowed over you. You know it is not true. Your face do...