. . .

releasing dreams to build the sky,
he does not count moons in puddles,
clouds in tear drops
or the number of suns
rising on rivers.

At Dusk

In a field laying fallow but plowed,
an abandoned porn mag
lays splayed open,
glowing
the colors of flesh
and fertility.

Tomorrow is Valentines Day.


2.13.6

. . .

I will get a block of steel
and hammer my name into a promise.


11.21.05