Some new stuff up at Imspired under the name, Mars Brocke: 

John Lennon Once Wrote a Woke Sonnet

John Lennon once wrote a sonnet
about a dog that became good friends
with a bird. But the dog’s barking 
at strangers threw off the syllable count. 
And the bird flew back to the little
princess who fed it crumbs of iambic pentameter.

In her bedroom at the top of the tower, 
both girl and dog closed their eyes and rhymed night
with day. By morning, the bird could recite
verse and the girl could chirp the songs
of buff-bellied hummingbirds. 
And the dog, echoes away, became
an intransigent verb with wings.

three short poems

dizzy in love
you mistake a joker
for a king of hearts

killing time
502 raindrops
to fill my pail

psalm 555a
emptiness is your god
continue to exhale

Bukowski Never Sang to me

He said the color of your eyes
reminded him of sloe gin 
and your poems were composed 
of three dashes of salt with some bitters.
He said how you had begun to forget
your superficial selves—after all,
they were only photoshopped 
And time-stamped. 

In your drink, the diluted reflections
drown you in a stranger’s blues,
his grafted lines used on so many
not-quite one night stands. 
Last call is the end of the world.

The Alzheimer Room

My mother  lies awake in a very private room, a sea of stars blinking on the walls. Acute yet faraway. The lights can still hurt you. She knows that. I just finish reading to her from a favorite picture book she kept since seven or eight years old. Whenever I visit her, and on the occasions she recognizes my features as partially her, she says, “Read to me from that book of stars. I remember how I loved visiting the moon when I was young and the stars were so close.” 
I read to her, and when finished, I close the book. She’s dozing off, perhaps very far away. I kiss her on the cheek, and whisper in her ear that I wish her a safe round trip to the moon.