after
wisteria glints through morning mist. the neighbor-
hood is damp and sluggish. even
the finches must have been at the pub last night
singing along with their pints
wisteria glints through morning mist. the neighbor-
hood is damp and sluggish. even
the finches must have been at the pub last night
singing along with their pints
i’d driven with a woman through the boulders
we talked of fossil art. i found her
sexy. she saw that my painting wasn’t finished
and right then i woke up
to the west, a cheshire grin of a moon descends
gently, tending toward the bay
a saxophone from around the block describes
my sweet and welcome longing
sipping my morning tea, my mind is not
content to settle within the cup
but wanders out to play in the neighbor’s yard
what’s that thing? what’s that called? what’s that!
monday morning, north wind clears the sky
jasmine blossoms dance with plastic
bags. preparing for the day, i shake
my butt inside my bathrobe