leaf sitting aloft
stray winds might steal it away
new, horrid freedom
nature
Celestial Sisters
The Pacific Ocean is akin to the face of the moon
by both its size, unfathomable,
for a mind such as mine to properly compute,
and likewise, its effect
of uniting men and women for eons.
Through the history of humankind
in all its bloodshed, and orgasms,
and soft drinks, and me,
the moon has always been there
for all the world’s people to gaze upon,
with necks bent skyward, and endless fascination,
and so has the ocean.
112.
moon-glow sprinkles o’er
caught in a willow’s tendrils
an earth-bound twilight
39.
stork and antelope
on legs of spindle totter
rarely fall from grace
City of Tears
A bird with a wing that’s folded
Newspaper shreds stuck to a truck tire
Sweat on a fat woman’s mustache
Gummy dirt ‘tween the tread of my shoe
Ugliness and sadness, guilt and despair
The city cries, but we can’t hear it
Drowned in loud dresses and alcohol
109
hall of bone and stone
these orchids off-set my fear
cathedral echoes
Whose idea was this?
Who built this railroad?
How did they come to lay down track ‘tween house and river
in such fashion as would drive wedge
separating me and my family from nature’s flux of fertile luxury
from its eager and ever-so-forgiving embrace?
What hand made thee?
And what hand do we owe thanks for tearing it asunder
casting it back to the grey, amorphous ether
from whence it was conceived
by mechanical mind, maliciously cold?
