Smell the
newborn puppies;
placenta from heaven,
like candy canes and
burning leaves.
Stay green as long as
you can.
Drink up the sunrise like
a chocolate malt;
because tomorrow comes
with a sigh...

Pressed flowers
Like pages
Of the Bible I’ve never opened
But weighs heavy on my back
Southern strains
The belt
The weight
All pressed
Flowers
In pages

Today's worries,
Now three days old,
Will be addressed
Tomorrow.

Down I go into the gray and brown.
I hit the sides, like being in a cradle that is
rocked too fast.  It's an abrupt catastrophe.
I didn't see this one coming; but I felt it, like
the slight rumble of an earthquake, or like the
false dawn, before the real light yawns, and
opens the sickly day.
It's just another ending, dapple and down.