Admiring a cookie
half dipped in hot milk
---plop

its the crying baby
who gets the milk.

Waking up
Is the best thing
a person can do.
Milk and cereal;
Empty-headed thoughts.
crunching,
With swallows.
Humanity
At the beginning.
Scribbles made
By one fine woman
Who knows who she is.
Waking up
Is the best thing
a person can do.

Floating on a stream of delicate warm milk
I gather handfuls of froth udders tepid silk.

Chilled hands collect warmth on a cold night,
Fulfilled memories of past moments do ensue.  

Each one descends into foamy warm truth
I pick out the choc chips going down smooth.

He comes everyday
Every morning, every night
Like the morning sun and twilight
After gulping down a glass of milk
Comes my dear Mr. Milk moustache

Do you see the moon?
It’s full again.
The time is passing so quickly.
It’s full again.
She hands me a glass of warm milk.
It’s full again.
Something catches my eye.
It’s full again.
The door closes by itself.

Did a ghost do that?
It’s hardly a ghost.
I sit on the washed out sofa.
It’s hardly a ghost.
My heart screams and my bones ache.
It’s hardly a ghost.
The way she speaks is so soft, so sweet.
It’s hardly a ghost.
She hands me the telephone.
It’s hardly a ghost.
Suddenly, she’s vanished.