Firecrackers to frighten the animals.
Shadows of mountains run
On the surface of the fords.

Another word of passion to fill a dream, tiring of the
Lost in pursuit of happiness schemes, itching at a chance to
Call for the virgins soft gleam, undoubtable fall
Upon forgotten gods crumbled skin, is nothing but
Desolate hope to endless means.

you're like the taste of hot chocolate
on a cold winter's night;
the beauty of a painting
on very first sight.
you're like the smell of flowers
when they begin to bloom;
i hope that i will hold you
real soon.

"--you know, I've either had a family, a job, something
has always been in the
way
but now
I've sold my house, I've found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and
the light.
for the first time in my life I'm going to have a place and
the time to
create."
no baby, if you're going to create
you're going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you're going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you're on
welfare,
you're going to create with part of your mind and your
body blown
away,
you're going to create blind
crippled
demented,
you're going to create with a cat crawling up your
back while
the whole city trembles in earthquakes, bombardment,
flood and fire.
baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don't create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses
for.

ignore all possible concepts and possibilities ---
ignore Beethoven, the spider, the damnation of Faust ---
just make it, babe, make it:
a house  a car   a belly full of beans
pay your taxes
****
and if you can't ****
copulate.
make money but don't work too
hard --- make somebody else pay to
make it --- and
don't smoke too much but drink enough to
relax, and
stay off the streets
wipe your *** real good
use a lot of toilet paper
it's bad manners to let people know you **** or
could smell like it
if you weren't
careful

She’s an inside-outside person
A tip-toeing lopsided dancer
A painter
A sculptor
A writer

a tree abandoned by the forest
and overshadowed by the sky
knows this kind of loneliness
where no doe would seek shelter
and no bee share its fruits
seeds fall gently into the stream
where the wind gives no answers
and the clouds race forward
offer no shoulder to the teary twig
there the roots are small, yet they find
a way through the hardest of soils
and the driest of seasons
hide in a place where the fire
doesn't turn cold

the women of the past keep
phoning.
there was another yesterday
arrived from out of
state.
she wanted to see
me.
I told her
"no."

I don't want to see
them,
I won't see them.
it would be
awkward
gruesome and
useless.

I know some people who can
watch the same movie
more than
once.

not me.
once I know the
plot
once I know the
ending
whether it's happy or
unhappy or
just plain
dumb,
then

for me
that movie is
finished
forever
and that's why
I refuse
to let
any of my
old movies play
over and over again
for
years.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?