(2000)
#ColdDay #LazySpiritWinter
GRAVE POEM: EDITH MUDGET… How is it that I, who kept my hou… And, indeed, my life, and the live… Of my family, in perfect order; I, who made the beds before they w…
death is absence of thought - zen how can we be afraid of something we cannot live to experience? it’s life that is frightening
surf and turf of St. Andrews olde salts and bullshit under one blue tarp gossip thick as molasses sparks quick as match-lit gas
Nature’s snowy gown Melts into a silky pool Spring’s passion awakes
she watches him as if the fault were in her eyes poor shorn Sampson withered hands grip the canes that barely hold the frail reflect…
a great blue heron watches from a mogul of grass as I scavenge a poem from the marsh Tom Peepety calls
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…
liquid blue nightgown made of lighter fare floats in romance of autumn air a ballerina in an erotic dance longing to join that v-trail in th…
Clouds on horizon Now and then a shorebird’s cry On buffeting wind
Seagulls hovering Uneven hills encircle Tide pool reflection
sunlight through the clouds in a ring of bright water loons fish two by two
wild rose bush crushed between the rocks so carelessly placed and yet there a soul looks out at me
a cold moon filters down through the purple asters no explorers have returned with caterpillar robes and dandelion gold
(Based on the fact that 95% of household dust is our own skin cel… flakes of me circling in the sunli… bits of you lying on the bureau gather them in a beaker
Beneath that secretive smile A strong hot thrust From a sidewalk grate….