as Paul Anka licked those white cubes
from between her dainty toes, I
knew it was too late for me so I flew
into the nearest more or less wood to
let my momentum slow to sap and
all those fictional women of
my graphic novel past were just
as complicated as needed
and as whatever else and, less
but I hear like is drawn to like
or the other way around I
know I should just go out and play
apart from now there is no other day
but this urge to heap mountain on mountain
Tag: wood
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Sonnet
sweet voices in a mist-filled wood like a memory of the moon just a few drops of blood from your yearly broken back and you can play until fat with all the things this difficult crossword puzzle doesn’t attract me now that some grey has snuck in so why not stay I lost my train of thought again but with the mental gps installed it was no problem to rejoin and then pick from one of the available choices and at last enter new star city
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In the morning you can reach out and see on the breeze in the mind the damp stone tightening straps keep him in place the pain in his cell the confession conversion meaningless at this point or the life by the sea rough stone grey the children I pushed through and lined up in the earth and the cliffs so beautiful lonely one time one town on the frontier barely built I can still smell new cut wood that simple home sun creeping through seams in the wall another sunny place warm weather sweet breeze always fetching writing down his many thoughts the wine was good
other animals 