A parade of corn marches past.

Christ a Jew?
Who are you?  the mayonnaise replies.

Vegetable verbiage crackles and squeaks.

As the elastic and garlic tumble,
in delirious and elongated *******;
The horseman looks on, but cannot perform.

The saddle worn.

Testicles torn.

A **** born.

Yet, naked stands the fortune fox.
Red eye and silver lox.
Bride of the future,
Surgical suture.

The apple of time.
Wretched sublime.

If we sped up time
Our lives would be a flash
Maybe that's what makes us special
We are the few lights
In the infinite dark

Today only their edges show.
A feather, a foot, a flash of orange,
stirring leaves left on the big madrona,
playing hide-and-seek,
suddenly exotic.

Ruth Solnit November 2020

She does not meet my gaze
as she enters, she sees me
and exorcises me with a bleak past.

Her consort sailor, sick or moribund.
She felt lonely, herself and only
considers thoughts
to another life with someone else.

Her eyes value
phantasms swimming.
She is a prisoner and beckons me away.