Chrysanthemums chatter
To a blind moon lisping
Over a city where
Junkies and lovers
Embrace they're torn Heartbeats to a night
Devoid of stars.

Looking through as glass darkly, Silhouettes and shadows gathering in the corner, with old books and half burned candles losing their scent,
And you knew you'd end up here, riding out the off season. Where cars fade
In the window, And
Pilate washes at the sink.
While Grandpa shaves with a straight razor,
Smiling without those Sunday dentures.

C'mon all scruffy behind the ears, Let up partake of evening, with the ghosts of dead Uncles.
As dreams remember what we've forgotten,
As an eyelash falls to the floor.

The moon rose pink and silent, an adornment on the lawn, I bet 9 whorls around
This thumbnail sketch the
Sun rises red near Cairo.
Too bad you lost it on a
Good strech,
An operational hazard,
Some lame 45, long on memory, short on talent.
Bet you cleaned up on the margins, but I bet you can't explain the stain on your shirt.
I think it's a hoot.
All those dark horses,
Come creeping in under the radar on a blue Sunday
With the sparrows lifting
One way then the other,
Silent, back to the wire again,
As cars hiss below the marginal scenery.
It's a dreary 9 to 5,
Nothing shaking on semanics
Catching 500 buses for the coast. Those suckers came and went while we watched
The moon rise over Memphis
But the sink drips and I think
Of olives stuffed with pimento, As a sweet thing
Walks across my window,
All legs and shining in the sun. When you make it free
You only make it worse.
Until then: create mythical
Creatures in the air.
Redo the blue laws every
Seven years. Tip the Triple Crown toward the sun.
Leave your shark tooth smile
At the door.
Its not really misinformation,
Its a hundred dead dreams
Lying on the stoop.
As the fan sails silent overhead. And trains run backward
On the other side of the Earth.

In the tombstone gleaming,
This discordant singing,
Whoosh- says the seesaw
On the arc descending,
To the sky beaming,
Down the coil,
Up again swinging,
We start as snails,
End up as Angels singing.

Tepid air, still in gray twilight, not how I imagined.
A thousand dreams gone by,
None of them like this,
Yet all of them are.
A grainy film,
Drawn through a blind man's
Window. Taking asylum
In the Narthax of the church.
Miss September with child.
Madonna in the beauty of roses while you lie sleeping,
As her Son gathers mystery
In the dreams of children
Seeking pearls of wisdom
Falling to the floor.
Does it make a sound,
Dredging the dregs of life
Along like a possession
Drug from place to place.
Intrepid loner, looking out
For the loser charging his heels close behind.
Sure as a spark takes to the wind in a dry field
On the edge of waking,
As the light pale in the meadow, And Angels
Lie sleeping in the dust.

Blurring the pages,
I never know where to begin.
I mean its all a process,
Lax,I'll say, not like Philly Steaks under a crimson moon
Only Cessnas hovering the airport. 5 years down the pipe, What's to show?
As the wit runs dry,
And it all feels so fake.

Its all readily super imposed,
Like the steel chips I dig
From my work boots.
Saul sold his eyesight
For a broken figure raised
To Light.
And I ponder it's meaning.
Well, I guess its all 8's
From here on out.
What a sleek subterfuge-
And I lost my train of thought.

Dreams of tavern hell,
Then you wake me once more to sweet lamplight.
There's only two ways
Out of here:
One requires gasoline,
The other skilled dexterity.
Wait for further instructions.
Perchance to dream,
She walks as a thousand moons. Where turning away
She turns toward Kodachrome. So elusive,
I mean deep in the *****,
Where they go loop de loop
All night long.
And it's so callously dropped
On this ludicrous calibration
So out of square, going nowhere
In a hurry.
You said you saw it coming.
I did too.
Not that you would care.
I did so once.