We trespass insanity with great stealth  
at the close of day , jot bits of our self -
described tangled webbing to disclose later in prose ,
commit our imaginations to tap on the door
of the 'magnum unknown'
A goblet of red , a whiff of Borkum Riff , a
Moonlit tint producing a curious script
We're improvisational thespians surrounded by
our peers , Fire Ants on a forgotten marshmallow ,
a can of beer left in a hot trunk in Florida ready to
explode , a wind rattled Hound Dog trying to get home

Sound of the morn , songbird articulations over -
colored Maple , Hickory leaf lanes and sky blue-gray portraits                                                      
To the face in the clouds , a toast at the wake of surreality
Concurring melancholy's invoice with stoic individuality
For the benefit of worn repetitive thoughts , a culled
mouth filled with morning wine , Sugar pine fortresses
delay the burgeoning warmth of day , rain waters seek their
level whilst the privately insane find themselves addressing their taut vulnerability* .....