You left your surname on the chair. How
Will you be walking out?
I think they will laugh. But the sky
Is a can opener.
We should try this foot first. It
Aches like fur and berries.
A romance of psychedelic
Umbrellas. Disheveled looks
Good on you.
You can borrow my shovel.
Let what you
Have lost settle on the stars.
I think they will be angry. The soles
Of
Your ambulant thoughts
Are not stay at home caddies.
thank god i bought $punctuation$
to make cents
of what i write. i soled the
souls of old shoes
for midnight daisies
Not so much the clichés
Of heaven, nor the dullard’s
Industry that bottoms civility,
Riches are pittance, power
Frivolous, and fame is a fortune
Found in shallow water,
Rather it is to make life, even if
To little purpose its service,
Never rendered never obsolete
the lack of answer
is the space we take part in
a grave contest drawn
in the dust of stars
utter non
sense played without jest
a box of giggles
forgotten of hat
blue black green
and yellow sun
wet paint yellow
one two seven
or any number
of raindrops
the √ blue
= 11 ▲’s
hold open the door
the elbows of the moon
are mostly dreams
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
sho
rt p
oems
love
pud
dl
es
