to my sandha i go for refuge 

at bloomington beach

it's not everyday that one passes
a man sprawled out next to his glasses
beside buddha, on a beach
i was shocked at their reach
this piece understanding surpasses

fell into the well 

terse verses

if only my limerical blogging

weren't as irregular as my jogging

i'd have tomes full of poems

and the poems would have homes

but instead they my head have been clogging

it's not easy: AABBA

these poems weren't scrawled in a day

i writhed when i writ 'em

with their rhyme and their rhythm

word work ain't the same as word play