fallible human
so serious the
daydreams of real heavy vines
that climbed green mountains
looking for their own dear self
is he still running?

while the moon retreats
the stars form again as women
silver as a hornet's nest
flowing in their gowns

neon lighted night
glittering with honky-tonk
halfway to the moon
dreams float to the night
so speak of tulips
that flower has opinions
for the clouds form seven veils
all these little scars
mainly about rain

note: I think I'm writing about barmaids

I love his heartache
It is second only to mine
daffodils, bluebells
eyes open the gate
almost purple, the yellow
price of gold is up
must we cry alone?
forged from a single teardrop
we may have Easter

gorilla take heart
for you could be just like me
sailing far away
the boat cuts the moon-picture
Marigolds planted
next to the prize tomatoes
fat, hairy and broke
her ripples still dance
to feed all the bugs

the feathered pillows
may be swimming with the wood ducks
in another life

You were corn flakes straight, father, and I am still honey flavored Cheerios.But life is more than breakfast. Today it seems like a little pick-up I'm driving to work, honking my horn and settling old dust. No, that's not true. But kicked up with the dust is a brocade of dead leaves, gold-brown like corn flakes.

intimate our grief
we cross the border
of high and mighty summer
such cabbage in fall
so many peeling layers
the sunny dippers
now float gently down
so hide your lonely desert
again rivers flow

inviting vigor
the stars will still dance
our lofty aspirations
the tiny islands of bread
cold fading soldiers
tiny sips of wine
our good intentions
go find the new moon
and fill it full of blossoms
for life's window box
the red Begonias finesse
early November

inviting vigor
the stars will still dance
our lofty aspirations
the tiny islands of bread
cold fading soldiers
tiny sips of wine
our good intentions
go find the new moon
and fill it full of blossoms
for life's window box
the red Begonias finesse
early November

the sun is slender
securely in the window
short November days
and the evergreens
to all the lemon colors
suddenly a rose
upward curving paths
rugged the pot holes
yet gold this November day

tall as the steeple
it comes very personally
tell all the patches
I give you the rain
in my great big crazy quilt
which errs, strays, stumbles
clanging like the bell
it is falling on a heart
I'm busy sewing

so much empty space
and time prickly as cactus
how hard the wind blows
somewhere near my heart
smacking on a hot tin roof
yet the desert blooms
as happy as rain
once forgotten in drawers
I polish the dreams

first quarter today
if you are looking moon way
dark back,light forward

rugged is the sun
the moon's the real big sissy
begging all that light

The dawn is resting
It is waiting for the sun
to streak its boa

call it the wild wind
the one that's always calling
and veiling the clouds

I will plant a rose
among the Dandelions
cause I'm uppity

take out the garbage
if you do it every night
it never piles up
but if that's always your chore
you may need a new partner

rich alluvium,
the half man,half woman weld
which is best to dig?

initials should soar
in broken bar room toilets
after washing hands