on the cross town bus
met a holy man laughing
singularities

gulls with crows fly high
cicadas rasp deafening
wasps and flying ants
forage over the parched ground
neath blue sky and ragged clouds
among the twisted oak trees
that dot the parched field of gold
by the sea by the graveyard
on the point on the foreshore
in the heat in the west wind
i walk staring out to sea
breathing the salty air
dreaming and alone

i  am but a web
immersed in a liquid
full of messengers

when i was a boy
adults seemed caricatures
they still often do

clear cloudless morning
salmon pink and yellow skies
wrapped in nighttimes chill
i wait for my morning coffee
poking embers in the fire
chipped enamel *** ontop
from within the wood a song
clear and bright and strident sung
a robin greeting the day
brightens my expectations
pushes away the cobwebs
as the whiskey jacks arrive
wondering what's for breakfast
trout and eggs today my friends
take what you can steal

i saw a strange sight
at the bus station last night
an old white ten speed blender
waiting in line for the bus
sitting there on the pavement
it seemed passive and patient
in that mad rush-hour lineup
and it was the only one
that remained unplugged

you are delightful
that is what i think of you
when i think of you