fat slippers

the day of the last day
of the month beholdens us
to ask the sun to stop tricking
around and to settle, less to the north than to the south.

the time for real ad libbers
and seal skin shoes treading
waves through the ice roles
is nigh to realize
that they are just a then
and a hen lives in a pen
scratch fasting in the dirt,
worms are not words and similarly
neither are hoards of gold.

deadlines

live lines snipped by the wind
fall sparking among
slugs plotting sidewalk chalk lines
feeling like midgets washing microscope windows
tying shoes with dental floss
removing the fingers from between grizzly teeth
scenes from the crash of one world into another,
from one biology into the
hat-trick fidgets of a generation
waiting for the reality of life to appear
while its already here and shivering

I believe

stevie could see
me and the wind swept sea
bathtub trees ground up the roofs
and windows blacked out to the chorus
of a new sun
folding the time in half and rising
in neutral nine

happy new years

SEP 21 fingers by crazyfacehands

shark skates

hound of the idle fiddles
stands there bugss bunny faced
the crickets slurp up the silence
of the river banks that are rich with wind
and willows
and literature pillows pile along
in the evning when that hot sun goes down.

woah that tiger

joplin cleans up the chopin
with rags and tiger stripe slacks
similar if not distant to the beethoven
seeing the brig over the river quai
and deciding to anthemize about it

solid Gold

Archimeded it up
the cup rose to the tup
and the grams fall and the drams
all hold hour glass sandstorms and
enthusiastic flames purr the wind along
elongated rythims of heavy metal elements

microscopes are whipped together
and mixed with the ancestors of helium, argon, and zinc
and baked together to get some
cookies or cake

rain again

last night the sky
fell apart and landed
in puddles and muck holes
and the satr started
thinking forward to saturday
when the moths loss of wormhood
is another part of the
apparition

salaam salad

oho, said the toast
o no, said the rest
of the cups of coffee
ringing revele on the table top
counter this! said the fork and the knife
smothered in butter
landed in the sink
the cups where all there already
having a drink when the salad
arrived and said to sallamy,
salaam.

september for ever

this is the death
of summer
the health of deer and pheasent
ridges, filled to the brim with pleasent
wing edges and the reest of
the time a dozen bridges