Suppose you was 18 years old And never had a single thing In all your life to call yours alo… Except your body and your face? And suppose you went to work

Beneath that secretive smile A strong hot thrust From a sidewalk grate….

crickets and brittle leaves empty seed pods scurrying in the heavy scent of autumn

Still they knock at my door And complain About the state of the world Selling fear Like grape Kool Aid

a cold moon filters down through the purple asters no explorers have returned with caterpillar robes and dandelion gold

summer is ending following the rolling sun quite without remorse

see them standing in glass houses clutching stones of fear anxiety suits and shoes boots and jeans makeup and hair powdered and perfumed

the sum of the estate: pictures newspaper clippings poems the memories

little lies, seeds of thyme shallow-rooted, often sewn cover the largest stone yet a tree springs from a single seed

Life has a way of playing the vile… Or, providing an evener, some migh… I, who did not want to go to war, Seeing the senselessness of it, Stayed at home to work the farm -

Many times, my father, drunk upon… “Spare the rod and spoil the child… Swung his belt and lay the stripes… To cleanse my soul. And I, drunk upon memory and whis…

I saw their faces as clearly as if… on their stones beneath their name… heard their voices in the trees whose roots go deep into their dus… and into the dust of this Island

the darkening hills a triumvirate of crows in the glowing gloom

In the universe Of winking stars is there one Who also wonders?

we don’t know who he said he was we came from curiosity and stayed for the inhumanity