Things budge,
lumber on.
Old shoes
crawl from ditches.
walk beside them
their youth.

None of it new,
none of it
the same;
in her dreaming forest
a woman turns
to a wall where
snake heads
poke out
like flowers.
Deflated politicians
plan tomorrow.
Sad accordions
cry in the dawn.

I cannot say
where anything will end.
How many times
I am amazed!

The hand putting balm
into the breeze
swells the news
paper vendor’s face
blue   black   red

How many times
things converge
and fly away!

Joy and sadness
like birds light down.

New jokes new heroes
hang around the corners.
The In & Out
I go now to my money work
where I must turn my head
around and turn my ears & eyes
inside and speak with some conviction

Concerning a warehouse with 6600 square feet
NW, dock & evenings 368-
78 . . . politely
and always
of time
that gets into figures
parenthesis, adjustments:

I praise the people
for their perseverance
in matters
knownst un

I sing the caffeine Blues (ah!

In front of me
on the sidewalk
my shadow leaps
like a crow and
flaps and loves

A rose
Journey Of The Eyes
He shit so hard his eyes fell out.
It left him unimportant,
a bag of flesh without a word
of explanation save the wind
that whistled up him
as they laid him on the lawn.

But the eyes still saw
down great pipes to the river
whose mouth opened into
the ocean and all.
They saw a city glow like God
between two rows of mountains.
Birds flew from the mountains
and saw the eyes below.

Inside the belly of the bird
an eye slept
or woke to see
through the beak to the sky
whose complexion was purple
as the bruise on the leg
of a woman or the face of a man
whose friends have beat senseless
and left on the doorstep
to dismay his children.