Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
The other night at Polly’s the cool September air added a gold taste to the beer and the Rhine. This short elderly cat walked in, done up in white silk shirt and dark blue silk suit, gold-rimmed glasses, head shaved Continue reading mike koehler | polly poem
I have traveled miles and heard songs along blacktop, gravel and concrete and the words thrum through the ether. You can join a revolution without leaving you car. Histories are being thrown at us. I have driven through scrap yards Continue reading mike koehler | i have traveled miles and heard songs
End of the Road The only thing I’ve done more than drive is sleep. The truth is I’m tired. The miles run deep. In my mirror one time I saw a flare of fire. Thought it was the Hand of Continue reading mike koehler | end of the road