My little Dove, my one true love,
You have gone astray.
I checked the cage, I checked the perch--
Saw you flew away.

I never saw you in the tree,
Never knew you came.
'Til the minute, 'til the moment--
When you set that poor tree aflame.

Like feathers did those leaves flutter,
Hot and turning black.
Aborted-fetus flowers now--
Ashen, crackling, curled around Lack.

That poor tree became a tower,
A beacon of dark.
Smoky tears billowed inside me--
Then I saw the Lark.



-LP

Suckle a breast
and Live--




-LP

Clouds
are made of clear
droplets.

Plump
or wispy or
massive,

or
spotty, quilted,
misty,

or
blanketing, long,
stoutly--

They float sometimes.
Sometimes they drift.
Sometimes they seem to stay in place.
They hurry or rush other times and
They collide--
Or meld together
to make love.

They are made of clear droplets
of water.

Clear/

Transparent,

Immeasurable

Drops--

That make

White

or

Grey

Clouds

With charges that storm.
With storms that charge.

They seem so tangible.
They seem so comfortable.
Anyone would fall to their death
if he were not an angel
pausing to rest.

Rorschach.

Clouds fall apart
when it rains.

Droplets fall from the sky.
or
Clouds fall from the sky.

And,
by the way,
Thunder
and
Lightning.



-LP

She was as relevant
as a
peninsula--

Mostly surrounded by
surrounded by
surrounded by
surrounded by
she was mostly surrounded by
surrounded by
surrounded by
surrounded by
water
insanity
turbulence
undertows

but

as a sliver of land

hanging

and

hanging onto--


she was made relevant.




-LP

Checkerboard marching
merges the sighing Red Sea--
Rainbow Genesis


-LP

Planetarium
soul, looking like the Heavens,
falters at Beyond.


-LP

Baby, this haiku
is cliché and means nothing.
Call it poetry.


-LP