A Hallucinatory Gleam
If you’ve got tears, be prepared to shed them.
Bath towel of the rocking horse is bled thin here down in
I went to temple in my mothers womb.
Another book loaned into oblivion.
The heather-bush in the drive has a hole torn.
Birthday blue shoes.
The banister at the Chinese restaurant has a gleam,
knotholes burnished, leaned on by generations:
Over & over, from Tues. to Thurs, I order myself small won-tons.
Father favored Chinese take-in:
even arctic outflow winds
polish tings like banister held by flimsy tinsel archangels, descending.
Little red bird in the cheap cage, in the birdcage grocery, outside the
the birthday rose I sent is sprouting.
Yogi & Boo-Boo go to Peru