Doors of jostled vicinity An eager angle extending in the sky a grey chasm Tip of island street morning wash A waking minute pointed to end quote Squeeze left in diamond-beaded industry Wedgeful elaborations desist Shut behind us without saying White lights from the powder-keg days
If I Pray To Anyone It Is To You
If I pray to anyone it is to you. You make a U-turn and are immediately apprehended By the power vested in me and taken away from you Because you are minus identity at this moment Where you linger In a bad frame of mind Like some weather on earth Perpetually stained, and it looks like home.
So borrow a shiny pen From the highway patrol And see the boats, instant pairs That idle steadily On the fortuitous tides. A grey caulk-expanse for hammers, As a lady takes a doughnut from a car trunk.
You never know what lands to the eye, Seeing air stir water visibly. But water comes to hide it. Just a mole's margin of sand in any case. And the nib flows.