Six Poems
Jeffrey Skoblow


A woman on the beach today, psychosis of homelessness,
shouting aloud to herself "Give me a *kind* *word*!"
pounded the side of her face with her fist.



Mosquitos come too
and fleas I imagine
driven to ecstasy
expending themselves
for posterity a bigger
brainless cause coming
and going

they hang on
to the back of their excitement
for dear life


Scratch Paper

first draw
a box
around it
because it's
important then
cross it
out because
it's done


Words don't
make any
thing but
them selves

the rest
is up


Pardon Me

Let me ask
you a question
if I can

Are words riddles
and if not
what are they



What are you
doing I said
to my words

I listened carefully
I heard nothing
but ears rustling