One Sentence Poems

Howie Good En Plein Air  I would like to be the Sunday painter who sets up his easel on the brink of a hill, the sky so thoroughly the sapphire blue you loved it would be impossible to believe you weren’t still alive to see it. Howie Good believes it’s a hard, it’s a hard, […]

Howie Good Writer’s Block Inside my head, there is a great silence, a refrigerated, cellophane-wrapped rose. Howie Good was born like this, he had no choice, he was born with the gift of a golden voice.  

Howie Good Changing of the Guard I want to shout, “Hey mister!” and throw blood at the wall and decorate my face with it, and if there are guards in the room, they will just shrug and shuffle away, and then the days will erupt in love of country and the nights in dancing rain. […]

Howie Good October Light Not evening yet, the leaves erupting in obsolete colors, Dragon’s Blood, Uranium Yellow, Mummy Brown, while the wind makes confession, and I sit here alone and think about it, something I’ll never know, whose idea this was. Howie Good is not dark yet.  

Howie Good Things Past The crying corpse that hits the road, accompanied by the ghost of Andy Warhol, looks back once, twice, three times, sees women superimposed over the sand, ripples in the sand mimicking strands of hair, a dune tracing the curve of a hip, my entire high school sinking into the sea. Assembled […]

Howie Good Rain City Just because some days are better than others doesn’t mean any day is particularly good, like today when the tinny sound of rain overlays everything we say and windows frame trees that in the sodden light might be taken for the dark- haired men in shiny black leather coats who watch. […]

Howie Good Early Buds Slow footsteps stop just outside the door: anti- terror units in half- face masks and bulletproof vests. Howie Good‘s eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards.

Howie Good Tinnitus: A Love Song It’s something only I can hear and especially during those moments that get so quiet without you not a buzzing exactly or a hiss more like the screech of lab mice conditioned by electric shocks to shudder at the smell of cherry blossoms. Howie Good was born in Dixie […]