407

I make decisions every day – it's the "doing" that's the problem.

406

Looming crossroads or looming crosshairs: Either way, I'm gonna be in the middle of 'em. ...

405

There are worries – worries upon worries upon worries – but they can wait until tomorrow. Today is for action.

404

Sometimes a choice is easy, but justifying it to others is hard.

403

The thing about early is that it's too god-damned early. Way the fuck too early. Go away!

On KMBH 2 p.m. Sunday, Feb. 27

Hear my radio interview 2 p.m. Sunday, Feb. 27, on PBS show "Corazón Bilingüe" on KMBH FM 88.9/88.1. I'll be reading a few of my poems and discussing poetry, language and biculturalism.

If you miss it or can't get the station, the podcast will be on the show’s website in a few weeks.

402

When ice and snow begin to blow, where do green parakeets go?

401

The ties between us are not so easily cut as hasty words would make it seem.

400

In dire times, our soft hearts synchronize to martial beats – to War, now! To War!

399

The brain is fuzzy, the mind is blank, and I have no one but myself to thank.

398

Tune in for next week's gripping episode of "At Least the Ducks Are Happy." Until then, keep quacking!

397

After the freeze, toes and ears are toasty, but the chill still holds my heart.

396

Damned subconscious doesn't do what I tell it. I'd get along much better in the world if it did.

395

Rhyming is fun and so are puns. But keep them light or else they'll bite!

394

You've already decided to read this sentence, and hardly any stupid thing I write can dissuade you from finishing.

393

"You didn't see it coming, did ya?" said Smartass – right before the anvil caught him by surprise.

392

Keep adding pebbles bit by bit and soon you'll have a pyramid.

391

When the rite is done and all their vileness expunged, is there one who remembers him, the sacrificial goat, as a crying kid?

390

My "wannas" fell in the mire of a latrine pit. I'm not going in there. Let 'em rot.

389

English studies have ruined me. I've become not so much a critic as a nit-prick.

388

Empty, the factory writer works the inky production line, one word after another, until the daily quota is met and the bell rings 5 o'clock.