The Room

I like what you did with the room.

What did you do away with?

I thought so.

Have feet summered

Into autumn shoes?

I brought you some icicles.

It was no trouble. The stars are cheap

Tufts of nuclear fusion.

But I would recommend a parade.

There by the window.

But you are much too quiet

For ghosts.


A demolition
Derby of flowers
On the surrounding

All of this is me: hordes
Of daffodils, cloud
Shoulders, cloud arms, and cloud legs stretch
Vivaciously in me.

A bludgeon of sweetness
In the summers grass.

A cement bock of seagulls
Ripens like an apple.

Cremate my brain,
Feed it to the rain,
Till only a tantrum of dreams companions me.