The onions were crisp and sugar funked. The pumpkins plump
and less ordinary than the okra with the palsy.
The sweet peas were lumps of gnocchi tucked into emeralds
as ascendent as a vine of pregnant Ivy.
Coin purse puce where the rain slapped
and the fog of our tundra dropped anchor
where our meadows
were bent.

But what Vera wants to know
Is Why?

And what Heaven wants to know
Is Why Not?

game face with no game
tripping over elbows and
undone gobsmacked remotes
that tune into deep figures
sleek features masquerading
as all the fog in a room
full of you,

dormant doormats. done dilly in the privy
of your terminal performance.
your one enormous soliloquy
and all the sparrows
of your Mind.

Etcetera.

Tiny glob sparks of actually dating a girl
And all the calla lilies yarping at blonde varmints
In the Sun’s terrific mockery!
Where you might be at
Might well be otherwise
where the Chapels have real Gods
and slow days are often.
Perhaps your pearls hate the necklace
Not the Neck.
But How you toil is how you breathe
when you’re nowhere exactly
At All.

At All.

Sleeping where the air is green with too many afternoons,
bundled into perfect joys that unravel with Kinships
Set sail on Voids that ne’er return their humble pirates.
Asleep where the villainy is private
And only God Knows your Name
Like a Suspect in a revolution
Of quiet demise…
And a certain kind of beautiful
Besides.

Stone Soup has rainbows for teeth
and all along
you haven’t been Amazed.

Stung by lurch and frequent impurities
slumming in my mind’s eye, like a tattletale
on a hot crime… thumbing through the entrails
of a fabulous tumult on the Meridian
Of Never.

I keep my Love in a Bag Of Moons.

Frozen rivers have a spine
But only the Sun has a river
To Inspire.

when i fell in love i had no word for runaway faster but hang in there.
i had all my problems in mint condition
like a  monkey’s paw in candle wax
but slept with Hope and *** and Perdition.
As your Lips were spoken for… or five and then some.
a whirling dervish of incomplete
Love.

I kept to the Plan.
Loved only you with -
my unspoken tongue.
kept to our barn
where our herd
Heard only the Punch
of our Judy.

Blue
where a Vice
is Anointed
and You. where
a Me
is disappointed

Like a Pro.

We had troublesome bones and almond eyes-
That thought violins would never go to War.
So Guitar.

We elapse
where our frailties hold Court…
So far better to rebel -
then to almost be less perfect
than Broken.

By Design.
Where it’s
Hell.

II


Burning Bridges where a Door is a Worm
In a Bowl full of Doors… you have only your Fate
And shamrocks gobsmacked in the matter
of your business with Always.
You do no harm
where the trains go
but keep your Station
where the Holes
Track.

You Aether where the World Sea
Is as Flat as a Wish…
But Never do you
Constantly
Remove.