Dreamer of dreams,
under the rifle tree
long lost the hunting gulls
and the iceberg to the sea
we will swim into that labyrinth,
share its baldheaded shine and
we will hatch that golden egg
when its rate is prime.

The dancing stars
will still ride white steeds
and perhaps find the rifles
after the lone rider sunsets

The moon,
filling my empty window
tawny yellow
glides like a shepards robe
plowed by clouds

They hang on a line
in a cold November wind
my red pajamas

1.Thanksgiving Day--
as we sit to eat
a corn flaky sun
tries to warm the
empty window boxes


2.Elusive leaf
now blowing in the wind
winters' snow will cover you

November throws long,
the short sun receives.
Who am I to change the game?

Walking in the rain,
my past a tugging fishhook
on a slender pole

warm flesh
in a darkened room
hark! the oldest trail

The Mums,
in tight formations
and gaudy uniforms,
quietly flank the library

Looking at Robert Creeley

Run
he sd
let the big ones in
they dream of us
got no rhythm
so run hard

"Art"

The wicker basket
surrounds scented, colored, soaps
I wouldn't dare use

Daylight streams thru
the bathroom window
as I carefully put the toilet
seat back down and watch
the sun help zip my pants

The misty fears
wet cardboard found in piles
yes November
to buy again the peacock
to dance again with seven veils
that whisper....love...

Prince Charming (a la Barbara Guest)

Mild these chilly tin roses of love
when put in front of underground
mirrors as the forest ping pongs
goodly is as goodly does differently
our witch or Snow White? Even the
Daffodil is yellow to the core but
they come up guillotined all in the
name of love. Ergo, the wicked
witch is dead.

"Sophmore"

Milkweed spores,
like white planets,
blow my way as
I search and research
listening to old
love songs while I
stare at an empty cross.

"parade"

Still pulled by the moon
around square city blocks
the tractor going uphill
in a downtown lane all
white shirts and butterflies
pushing I stutter stutter the
white lies as the moon turns
right on cue yes it's
John Deere green.

Oceans
frequent the bars
where sailors drown
underneath Orion
chasing mermaids
until the neon surf is up.