You could have driven
a pick-up truck
thru spokes of that moon, so big and radiant
this upended water chestnut--
ground mist weeping
in the shadows
flutter of an old woman's shawl,
the clammy smell like
a child's fingers to the face,
a little unsettling
crickets and dew in brigades
running tears on the old
shoe leather.

[14]

A boat sits on the very shallows
of a lake
in egg-cup fashion,
a tea-cosy covering waves,
orchestrating the bob of colours
in white enamel blue
inverted water.

Afar, the boat is a rasher of bacon
a strip, stripling, stipend
slicing the lake,
distancing.

The boat is an envelope
at the end of the world,
planet-sized, pea-green
about to spin crazily
into the sun at the
end of a rifle-sized
mail drop.

The boat rides amid the
between places of things,
furtive longings
where crones sit within
waiting bushes &
lizards visit skin,
dirge of teeth gnashing
the fringe canopy of
flowing leaves.

[15]

Stravinsky's Firebird,
Debussy's La Mer
lilting arrangement like a windmill
with a little Hottentot of a bird
scurrying over leaves
like hot coals,
nest a pudding arrangement,
oven-shaped,
dappled with a string.

She is alternatively
lady of the green shoots,
Empress of an Andes of twigs
for this cow-pie upended
between trees
is fortress and manor,
blockhouse and Maginot Line
careening between the branches
much as a sloth
toe ambles
across the roof of a forest
gingerly stepping on noise,
clinging to velvet footpads,
sitting between shadows
within the roar of a clearing.

[16]

Iced coffee,
wedge of toast--
the sun poking thru
cranberry glass
delights exquisite Duchess of Berry,
her decanters & an hourglass.

Halo-hello in your fingertips
I said,
to a cadaver of light
boldly striking a tuning fork
to ring an engagement
of gold flecks
by your bed.

Limoges vase
for lace and pretty underthings
for outside the stream
steals my interest,
wearing tumbledown silk pyjamas
and a peek-a-boo smile that points
thru reed curtains.

A rustle from her chemise
and sun parasol parts green boudoir
draping shiny, black rock.

The muddle of this earth-time puzzle,
brief flutter to the eyelid's butter--
I saw match-flare
crocheted into the snake eyes
of your dress.

[17]

Some lives have themes.
Goldfish that stubbornly die;
compatability only with distant lovers
--flowers (but no sweet-breads)
that wilt to the touch.

Waiting. Charcoal-grey cat
agreeably on a green linoleum table
with light basking in....
a tad playful,
paws up,
(classic boxer stance)
but no one notices.
Others oblique in their transparency,
are unmindful of even the empty closet
and greeting cards that smile hello.

In the dark
this room shimmers below
life-raft status;
chairs are buoys
bobbing under waves
of congealed fright.
In the morning
the first pigeons
rifle over rooftops,
mad flutterings like your eyes
stabbing gables looking curiously
like your heart.
A tree bandaged in wood
manages a feeble handshake
with sky cajoling winter.

But it is the moon,
large and eerie,
a golden earring
mindful of a Chinese panda
that plies its trade.

Mandarin-like, a snout
so cloud-entrenched
soft night barely resembles
willow and bamboo shoots
the universe left to feed her.

Nuggets or nougats?
Should I call you "opaque",
use coke-bottle glass as a
symbol of light-headedness, transparency?
Keen vision?
Could it be more is known of outer space
than your mind
or that leaves,
frosted with cold,
are conducting interviews
maliciously within the park fold?

Rather (and this is so circumspect)
no one owes anyone
in the brisk coinage and trade
that breeds human waste ...

So drivel passes as conversation,
a handshake for real investment.
A lot in common, the wrong dreams.
Pretty awareness, the desolate pennies
stumble from our hands.

More substance, really,
in the rustle of a silk dress
or static electricity
that pops over orb-sized breasts.
Hide and seek
peek a boo,
you don't need me
I don't need you.

[18]

She wears a cat encrusted T-shirt
& panties with L*O*V*E
guarding the Paradise door
& when balm of night
casts shadows,
her face is moonrock
distant to mysterious
down storybook crags;
her darling form cloaked
in twilight garments
of an inky earth.

Gates of Venus,
. . . as if feline whiskers
whispered, wan cat eyes
in amber dark glowed pale honey
in alchemy or blur of soft movement
was caress to stars' elopement
with the sky.

This woman summons fire,
stokes furnaces to quicken parchment leaves
of flame-thick desire,
honed soft on ripples
skin tones were curvaceous
drift of oars, vivacious breast on buttock's
door, more moisture bead
holding regal court,
this prance down wet & downy stair.

Rain is a swift messenger
paw prints
with descent of night
where moon
becomes a plaything of
clouds' passion,
and pincushion
upward surge of
clammy earth.

[20]

A small fish,
its colors
embers
amid the swirling water;
reminiscent of a
café in darkness--
the smokestack tablecloth fluttering
in the matchbox breeze.