I’ve updated the anthology to include this new poem.
There lived an okay poet, a man of his word.
No one lived happily ever after.
Before them, an okay life — stretched out.
Like poet, like audience.
The okay poet said, “it’s okay to be sad.”
I wouldn’t go that far as to go gentle into the night.
Far be it from me to run away from the set of conditions.
Yet I wouldn’t be caught between a rock and a hard place.
Isn’t it okay to be great?
The Words’ Word shapeshifts before these words.
Reveries That I Call Poetry 