Ruffling Your Feathers Is Too Easy.

Mostly unfurnished and small,
your heart contains little
but a perch for you to roost upon
and a mirror at which you can focus
your limited attention
towards your favorite subject
with two dead eyes
while squawking
I'M A PRETTY GIRL
I'M A PRETTY GIRL
I'M A PRETTY GIRL.

I Don't Like Birds But I Love You

Beneath the murk
of barely morning

lids and shared blankets
shutter early light

but when skin
joins skin

my pulse rises
faster than the sleepy

sun and sings louder
than any stupid bird.

A Day Off Feel a Little like Nirvana

Honey on Silk

"Honey on silk"
makes me question
Henry Miller's
knowledge of

women.

A sticky sweetness
upon natural woven fiber
is a disaster
never to be rubbed in
and always to be kept
away from heat

no less a penis.

A good lover
should chose his
words more

carefully.

Bad Aim : Mardi Gras Beads Tangled in Tree

Seasons Fleeting

I dare not tread
among
young, fresh, green
for my Spring step
rests somewhere between
Summer and Autumn
these days.

Just wait.
Your delicate blossom
won't only droop
but one day drop

and only then
will our glasses meet
and chime
like Winter ice.

For James Laughlin

Don’t tell me
You know pain
Unless you are
A parent who
Has lost a child
Or you have been
A child
Who watched
Their parents
Bury their child
And then had them
Look at you
As if they
Have seen a ghost.