Untitled 1

Stockings hung
On the mantel
The toes dipped bitterly toward the floor

An old dog
Smells the lumps
The light is yellow
The chimney lets the sky have it

Rub and rub
Lamps of truth
Shine, shine
Black clean lines

Untitled 2

I wrote myself into being
A seed
Willing itself into becoming
A tree

Where there was nothing:
Clouds basketballs traffic cones cows

I pull away from reason
As folks in nursing homes do
but then a seed carried by
(I won’t say wind as it has meaning.
Won’t talk about trees because talk about trees leads to forests)
The seed’s soft down
a silken parachute

a heart is fodder for butterflies
I vow to lose my reason.

Vanitas

There’s a red rose behind my eyes
My brain eats the rose

With easy thoughts
I function

Pulsing on green stems, or is the rose
On a cloth with books and a burning candle?

I brown my skull with roses
and arrange my papers

Yellowed with acid
Reddened by fire

Ornaments
Glistening
In the light