Indiana Stories

Songs of Youth My thin memories were born Among the whispering grasses Of an Indiana field sloping down To drink from a nameless creek.   They were suckled by jiggers And sung to by whippoorwills and crickets Under a weeping willow by the creek And endless summers of warm sunlight.   Hopes and expectations shot across the night sky And sometimes danced real slow Pressed against young girls with hair like wheat And tissue...

Kneehigh to an Indiana Jigger(Raanana, January 19, 2018) When I was kneehigh to an Indiana jiggerOnly birds tweeted and their tweets were longerThan a hundred and forty characters,Posts came in and went out tin boxesWith rounded roofs and red metal flagsThat notified you when you had mail,And when you shared somethingIt got divided among those you shared it withInstead of getting multiplied by infinity.I'm not saying time...