I have tasted human flesh
From the oven of
Lips and tongue;
Dripping well-dressed
In savory sauce,
To stir me to feast on.

Little Bird flew over the hill
because someone said the
green grass was bluer over there

Little bird was canary yellow
But only on the inside to see

He dreamed of
peacock feathers
Bird of Paradise
rthyms and ways
He was way over his head you'd say

But little bird
was born a sparrow
Brown , ugly , and ruffled
He wore all his emotions
on his wings to display

But one day the cat caught the sparrow
And it was quite a harrow
His feathers you'd might say
Became fiber the old fashioned way

If dreams were monkeys
They would swing on the vines
Over a landscape covered in moon

If dreams were dinosaurs
They would be prehysteria
And have two ton funny bones

If dreamsssssssssssssssssss. . .
Were continuous
They would be exclusive as TV on reruns

No one dreams small
No one dreams medium
Everyone is in on the "BIG"

But at the end of the day
All of our dreams are
the ice cream we forgot to put away

Who knows what stops the heart of a song
I take note

of tiny thud—
robin in the wheel well of my car

the limp head
of a cat’s prey

sigh of wings
defrocked by power lines

baby starling’s fledgling flight
falling short of a pond’s edge

The slate morsel unearthed
by the tines of my rake

…and the world is vacant for a moment

Grief ***** a womb of air
but how it lives— I cannot say
Upended creature of us

Stops the throbs that herald life

You're the drums in the dark clouds
                           inside,
   the waves feel when my eyes are shrouds.

Good morning.
Welcome to this holistic Universe
of pumpkin spice lattes
with "organic" soy milk.

In this indisputably beautiful
multiplication homogeneous
to unidentified living growth,
we spawn the dawning
of a new era with our own
Purple Prose.

It's neither here, nor there.

Take a step back.
        Notice It.

Smell the ripe air with both
Sweat & Smoke.
We reciprocate our feelings
      Of  
           u n s u r e n e s s
With a firm handshake
And an
avoiding eye.
Here, we have fabricated
the abundance! of our Knowledge,

while We can't figure it out.
Are We real at all?

For once,
there can never be enough
       filth
that will not be gone with a flick
of the wrist, and a little incantation.

Jest is not in the particle,
It is in the galaxies.

Ralf is not a man.
Leaf cries when he is ripped.
But, he will be found and noticed
By the flamenco dancers
Who reside inside
All of the rocks that might
Be outside in the pavement
As we sip mango ***** beverages.

It is the silliest of events.

i've never known such a bitter, offensive taste
an assault on the senses
an incursion on the tongue
as when your name was in my mouth