A Love Like October

Singing into the bush

a lilac on a lark.

A love like October,

orange and fast.

The lilac has a heated language,

a boiling pattern of speech.

Frost is mute,



The lilac leans toward the Bush

A waxy, evergreen sun,

needing shelter.

Pumpkins fight with lilacs.

Frost is the winner who takes all.


Yellow reads the Kama Sutra

to write a new edition.

I admire her.

She admonishes me.

Lately I have rotted like wood,

muddled like a puddle.

Where is my orgasmic frenzy of doing

and being done?

22 Pounds of Wishes

I have 22 pounds of wishes hidden among the weeping wisteria.

The flowers by the pond have been melancholy a long time.

I drink with them.

Look at Lily’s tattoos.

Kind of abstract, don’t you think?

I’ve been told some people are really into that.

But the roses and I share the best laughs because we know it is not about pattern

but all about color and that soft, sweet texture on the fingerpads.

Meanwhile the snapdragons do deep, twisted math at the waters edge

and I drop a wish in the water.


Pharmacological Fog

Recapturing yourself will be easy.

White still in the bedroom,

structure from private, necessary snow.

dreaming of silence.

Your mind is a playground of artillery.


Capturing the sense of yourself will be hard,

Lost 2 feet tall in a field of chaff.

The women have needles and no yarn.

A man sits toward the curdling sun,

his face a mouth.


Sound your siren song

A gentle offering of wisteria wishes

and sulking letters.

Give her a sonorous rope to tie round her wrist

a little balloon bobbing desperately toward mass.



You are a systemic failure,

a weed I will use to make a poultice for my feet.

My jaw is slack and exhausted from talking to God,

my ears reverent from listening.

Sunlight colonizes the window glass,

makes cities we can see but not feel.

A Tree in a Bubble

A tree growing gnarled

inside an intrepid bubble

floating up toward a windmill made of tulips.

How Dutch my dreams are these days

And I always go Dutch with them.

I will pay for my own lead and bread

if dreams will pay for theirs.

What happens to me when I float without roots,

a microcosm of germs and stardust rising toward

my personal zenith?

Impossible Blue Countess

There is an impossible blue countess

leching in my fear mongering back yard.

See the heartbroken morning writhe in chains.

Noon is a brutal master.

Lovers are knives,

moan low in noon light.

Cold is curious-

Travels everywhere

Like this royal blue nobility of consciousness

pontificating on cold betrayal.

A Thorough Education

Welcome to the Life Center,

with sparkly resources to help you warm winter.

Are you a cartwheel?

A suspicious glance?

A still wind?

We can help you get back to work.

We offer many courses:

Earth Spinning

Bone Knitting

Light Painting –

and certifications in

Prebirth Fantasy,

Pain Sculpture

Freeway Fashion.

Visit us today in the Building of Roses,

at the corner of Air and Fire.


Gloomy, graceful ghosts

lounge under a beach umbrella.

They are nudists.

They are as frosted glass.

No sunburns will befall them

as they get drunk.

And carouse on the beach where they

washed ashore

Ultraviolet Mafia

Ultraviolet mafia

exacting private taxes on the air.

Oxygen is an independent element.

Yet shrieks when hydrogen is rended from it.



I am a neutron.


I am an imaginary number.


I am dark matter.


Light blows this way

then that,

a cheap exotic dancer.



And always the ultraviolet mafia

is skimming some off the top.