is this head
propped on a pole
that's how I’m bred
but I just let it roll

as a woolen sweater
tossed for hours in the dryer
should have known better
I’d burn in the pyre

So is my wallet
thinner than a crepe
that's how I call it
empty with a gape

and like a popsicle
melting in the sun
I find it comical
this is a dry run!

as the Milky way
from the dawn's gleam of light
to the black edged sword of night
divided as the oceans

on a seascape terrain
landing as a pin
on a galaxy pulled to spin
she planet Earth, him Neptune

with no bridge
to cross them over
green as a field of clover
under a grey goose sky

hailing with stinging bees
a woman's silhouette
with pen dancing pirouettes
her soldier turns and flees

she lost him in the dust
blown like spores of pollen
he cannot hear her callin
the horizon has leprosy

on my shoulder
is waiting to knock me
over. The cloud above
my head is filling me with

dread. The ground
beneath my feet is naked
and fleet. This air I’m breathing
is smoky and wreathing. The fog

on the horizon is not
compromisin'. This speck
in my eye I cannot pry. My head
is a mountain that is mount

on sky a hundred and sixty
stories high. I’m drowning in
a puddle through a fuddle of *****
and gin. I cannot bear to win.

the rain is my shower.
The sweet, green grass my bed.
Perfume is the lilac flower
that dangles on stalks of silky thread.

A canopy of trees is the roof.
A dancing breeze, my fan.
No man here to reproof
or make some onerous plan.

The squirrel’s antics make me laugh.
Lunch is hanging from the tree.
I cut a red plump apple in half,
and down it with a wedge of brie.

My song, the melodic canary.
No television or radio,
just a swinging hammock and sherry.
Life's too fast not to take things slow.

running the reds
bleeding in threads
sticking as green algae
swirling the blues
in nostalgy
into the browns
pirouettes spinning
in striped corsets
plucking them strings
like Raymond Dorset
a palette of color
on a grey canvas
twisted as a cruller
Dust in the wind/Kansas

she slips
into his grip
as red blood lips
press together
and locks on mouth
make hands move south
cupping her bottom
pulling tightly his *******
rotating in this slim jim dance
eyes lit the skies like Paris, France
he drinks silky milk from peach jugs
as he plugs the sugar walls
Oh my Gosh! Niagara Falls
her hair a scarf around his face
he's so undone like his shoe lace
hands on clock
rotate

in colorful bloom.
Don't wait till I'm set out
as folding chairs in the little
room. Roses red as the blood

before it was drained. Deep as
the purple in the chapel’s glass windows
stained. Gold as sunflowers rising tall. Sweet
as the orange lilies painted on my bedroom

wall. The magnolia and peony smiling
down on me. Lilac’s dancing  pirouettes in
weeping willow trees. Let me run crazy
in a field of sweet daisies. Rubbing

buttercups between my toes,
in a garden hammock with a canopy of
green leaves for shade. Don't wait for
the day for this old body to fade.