Wednesday, February 1, 2012


It is really fun to be with people
who are not fully operational,
do not contain hazardous materials
and have left their vehicles
in the big-lot where people like us
leave our vehicles when we want to go
kick through the freeze thaw leaves
and snowmen, pestoing and drinking
a vintage made not for Death Stars
or Battle Star Galacticas, but for
the whole damn universe.
The way we squint with our lips
in the sun and see the point of origin
off in the vastness, herding donkeys,
where vineyards of iron rise
from the meteoric strikes of lilies.
The pink fingernail, how can it weep
when there is no tear-duct,
only hangnails?  Some days
even little cranes need help,
folded tightly on the wooden desk,
where wind or breath might blow them off.