Yesterday was a heavy day.
No rest from the night
Or the day before.
Like house paint
...
My poems:
you are the living, moving,
flesh of words
that are formed by me.
...
As I read poetry,
The good stuff looks
like photographs of words,
Or maybe more like holograms,
...
Once a beautiful, well-dressed woman
visited a house.
The master of the house asked her
who she was;
...
I’ve got those 1940’s,1950’s,
So depressing,
Ancient Memory Blues.
I’ve got those so depressing,
...
I do not believe in ghosts
But they are haunting me.
Not the ghosts of Christmas past,
Or present, or future.
...
It is an infinite universe,
An impermanent universe,
An empty universe
That is full
...
And the bright red-orange
of the fire of life
dims.
Slowly, slowly, ,
...
Weeds, oh weeds,
You miserable weeds
That my garden never needs.
And I’m too old to do much weeding
...