Field Guide

Where are the dandelions

On the edge of summer’s breath?

The stars are volume and sound

And depending on mass

May end up as holes

In the ground of the universe.

Where are you exiled?

The weight of distance

Is the circle’s geometry.

I published a field study

On the aerodynamics

Of solitude.

And found that it could swim.

The Flowers on Mars

The flowers
On Mars
Are heart shaped applause, wolves of
Silence, bankrupt fractals
On their past poems,

Asteroid belts, summer nights, lava, rocks, stones, leaves, solitary. They ask,
What are the numbers in the fourth dimension? What are the quadrants of solitary meanderings?

This dawn of the stones.
I walk alone.

Some Kind of Employment

The job of a fool
Is to ride the bus
Till the heart becomes a circumference
Suffices the world

The job of the poet
Is to put earnings
In burning buildings

Look look a macho moon in reverse
Parks in the eyes of city gulls

Go ahead and honk for doomsday

I’ve the summer grass
Tattooed on the shoe strings of my brain
Between the toes of my heart