Christmas eve leftover for
breakfast before i drive us
out to Sea. On the

wharf in your doggy tiny
doggy mirror doggy eyes
i am Camera Obscura melting
blue melting one with the
sky.

Small enough, dog; small,
dog-enough so i can place
you inside my hand-cage of
crooked fingers and

red-bitten bitten red
red nails red-painted
painted red, red, red
redsoveryred red.

Let us
          
          Let us you
and

                  me;


together we~
throw ourselves
to Sea

Let us let us you and me~
you and me~
we throw ourselves we
throw, we, you and me
let us let us.



Mister Death
mister death i know
you puke out
dogs.

kitchen low-light,
kitchen low-bright Kitchen;
low-spirit.
open refrigerator door,
illumination on on on
tiled floor
dull light; dull bright reflecting
your sadness.


kitchen low-light kitchen
low bright, kitchen
low; spirit
kitchen empty yogurt
cup >kitchen<
fiddling fiddling
striking the spoon
inside the hollow
(metal spoon,
against plastic cup
the blunt
DING DING DING)
'til you decide it's time
to stop playing and
throw it away.

gone now the
laundry basket by the
multi-color tiled bathroom half-
empty been a week now
been trying to fill it now
been trying to
not feel
empty gone

now the
cartons of milk he's allergic
to anyway,
in the fridge at the
bottom being replaced and being
tossed and
tossed again.

gone now he still
winces at the freshly laundered
sheets now
lemon-scented
lemon-scented you
but you are gone now.

---

who is going to
pester him for more tuna
more vegetables who is
going to tell him not
to water the cacti you
planted in chipped tea
cups who is going to
walk the dogs he gave away
not long ago because
no one has the love and
patience to do it anymore.

who is going to love
the lemon-scent the
scent you loved
just because of a poem
about it or a story who
knows...
who knows now
what you want
where you are how you've been...

who's gonna tell him
now not to
take the pills after
you bitter-sweet
lemon-scented good
bye.

july belongs to you,
and songbird. the wind
won't stop whistling,
shaking the trees
amidst the aftermath of
Night-storm.

look, river-and-sea. we
are all but caught in
dream after dream,
weaving parallel time-
lines and fragments
of our memories.

see, i told you.
it is what it is when
i put the book down as
you stare out into the
woods through
the ***** pane.

i want you.
i whisper breath-
lessly. summer, but not
quite. you see, believe me
when i say.

july belongs to you.