My dearest artist
These worlds you create
So full of wonder and awe
So lonely yet full of life
There are no words
And never a worry

Could you paint me away
Far away from this place?
In a place where I belong
With song birds singing
Where autumn never ends
The river flowing beside me
Cant you paint me away.

The tears as you leave are a blessing
the feeling of sadness a gift
For many don't have ones to love them
or pleasant sweet sorrow so swift

Another late night
More birds chirping
More feeling worthless
Worth well, six shots of Bacardi
A beer here, a drag there
What a drag here, slowing down
To my last fear - speak publically rambling
Incoherent politics iced coffee straw wrapper cigarette lunch for pigeons and people who look like birds

Here in the capitol
of lowercase relations
your drink is holding
yard sales for you.

Among headstones is a table, a lock, a plate of cucumbers
and salamanders (which can be pickled), a bowl of raisins --
a handful -- skating the bowl's concavity,

trying to

become round.

If a condition of space travel was one could nevermore return,
how many astronauts do you think
there'd have been?

More stars in lawschool than the cosmos.

Somewhere there's a story
of Indians singing
instead of pointing and laughing
when the Pilgrims came
and the Atlantic dropped off
into the earth's crust behind them. You see

pickles can't become cucumbers again. Everyone who died
drunk driving in World War II knows that.

But still

ovens dream of one day being iceboxes,
and the ice cubes all know this
and it makes them sweat.

And let the sun cook you like a ham sandwich
Swallow the salty water of temptation
Gag on your fingertips
And cry endlessly for salvation like a feral cat in the night
Kiss the moon, and cut the sky
Roll your car over at eighty miles per hour
Laughing and crying but laughing