circling his ‘i’s he
fine toons his (spleen + bleach) speech
on the titanic
I would wake up inside a peony small like an elf and it’s sunday
two pinkish mice
track for mask parcels
Asleep all day.
Awake all night.
Alive. (In spite of a certain FaceTime tea party.)
out of the frying pan–
no one to bellyache
From the car speaker, a recorded voice of a municipal employee repeats again: “stay at home”… the orwellian visions are overwhelming.
I wake up
into the silence
The rodeo clown’s eleven-gallon hat left in the dust.
from an old oaken barrel
the winemaker snorts
Sunrise after sunrise, a precious totem illuminated under western skies.
a sense of urgency
in a large space
On the road there is only an ageless man with the hands marked by illness. He is sitting on the sidewalk close to the traffic lights.
the bowl of a beggar
…..remember…..what the dormouse said…..
the tide is ebbing. time for the old sailor to express the transience and emptiness of it all in a single breath. a final, salty breath.
ocean wind –
the wings of an albatross
become a flute