Where the stars turn to rust,
I hit it right
and it made me wild with thought
that before we know where we are
It will be Spring
and She will enter

I did not enjoy seeing you the other day
and I wear your necklace as a reminder
of sweet things and of your seduction
my heart regards me, steadfastly
with tiny, bright eyes, and
ultimately retreats rejoicing
in the strength of ten thousand archers
golden arrows fly
so numerous they blot out the sun

Stange shadows come alive and
when shall I play for you the music of the
April rain?

What I found were
bright spots, vague synchronicities
and phony boys
pretending to have a secret
that they kept from all the rest.
I thought your voice was a trumpet call,
moving me to tears
and it’s an odd feeling
having watched the dawn
and heard the nightingale.
Did I like it?
I certainly did not.
Instead my heart unknowing
reached for chaos.

Always write at midnight, gaily
any scrap will do
it seems
I found her to be difficult, yet charming
and a little doubtful,
her lies smell of sweet cream
and the sound of rain.
Now, hush.

‘What’s the railroad to me?’
demanded the queen,
interrupting and pointing
‘Right over there, that nobleman passed.
Right
over
there.’

You can feel the frost above
where there is a whispering.
It’s the place that I never go to see.
Up on the slate
and then slinking around
back streets
into somewhere else.

Here, the nobleman, was
blown in from the bay.
‘He only went so far,’ the queen said,
again she’s pointing out directions
‘and then he turned ‘round,’ she demurred
‘and came right back.’

‪ ‪”Pinch him!” I said.
“As you wish.” she said.

On this morning of the Great Snow,
perchance,  
I thought to myself
‘I am getting old’
and so I laughed out loud.

“Ah, at last, I see that you are!”
he then proclaimed,
while our wee Angus
vanished from the picnic.

“I want to come with you to Alderaan,” he said co-conspiring, and hearing that,
Jove laughed!

“O gentle Romeo, if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.”