the clock smiles
and it is a sad smile

and coming through an open window
tiny red eyes on dainty feet
scurries around
the 4 corners of my prison  

where the dice roll
but never fall

 so,

hold on,

st christopher
former saint
taken off the calendar

O lost angel
guardian angel

say a prayer for me,

and like the shadows
thrown by the corner boys
as sunset approaches

i'll follow you down

into the tall
grass
where the lions wait
for wounded
dreamers

can you spare
a little faith???

O, st christopher

I ve been locked up
way too long
in this crazy world

please.

tell me.

how far is heaven?

...the meadow and the puddle
you wouldn't come out of

wild and simple joy

invisable to eyes, now...

I wander the meadow grass

the fields where the flowers glow
in early morning
sunlight

the fields you
only dream of
where your soul is always free...

and you come running
spectral through the mist,

I walk lonely fields

those who use their real names
on poetry websites:

we own a poodle
2 leopard geckos
buy ***** by the half gallon

have killed 2 to 3 people
BUT ARE NOT
serial killers

we only listen
to Tom Waits
songs

are surely
on the f.b.i 's no fly list

may own too many
guns

we  wonder???

how long???

is a piece of string???

and tattooed
on our genitals
"live free or die"

a dog pees on
every tree
telephone pole
and mailbox

to let  the other
dogs know he was here

and here I am

the sky is on fire
at sunset

(and you want to know
why i'm sitting
on the roof

the sky is on fire

and I only dream of you

and in Tibet
the monks write their prayers
on rice paper
and climb to a high mountain top
and fling their prayers
into the wind
where they will float
to heaven
and be answered

the clouds:
violet,
pale yellows,
and pink

and you want to know
what i'm doing
sitting up on the roof

so standing
I take the toilet paper
from my shirt pocket

and the wind knows
and skyward it goes)

the sky is on fire at sunset

and my quiet heart beats only for you