Charles Cross Poems

Let me be the tea she loves to warm,
On the stove-top. Let me be in the nuzzle-tops
Of her daydreams when she needs more excitement.
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I desire to possess the power of Pablo
And Yeats, to act on a whim;
And at old age, I'll return to my youthful skin,
And live with more memories
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If I settle down, I settle
In a sunset. I plant myself
In fiery orange fresh hoed crops.
I swim in the sapphire glow.
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Wayward when, with know in the air, drives
Forth the hairless cat, steadfast in mutual endeavors,
As why and whatever carouse deep in flimsy skirts
And panting chasms of whosoever and have-at-em's,
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Let seasoning breathe! Let the flower breathe!
Let your mother take a look at that, boy,
And then breathe! Before sap in skin,
Before sapling is welcomed, tell your words to
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"Coffee is for the weak, " so he says. I
Daily enjoy a pot, full to the last drop,
And do nothing but write poems in the
Stead of stories short or long; for, I am
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*First Note*

Dear Nancy, forward the horses and sing to the hills,
The thick-book beau lives in the sweet estate
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Grass is sweet by the feet on the bless'ed null;
All is sweet by the feet of old Father Wool.

Idle thoughts of the flock privy to the candor eye,
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'Little flies, why bother me so? '
'Bother you? We did not know.
Care? We cannot say and may annoy,
For in our buzzing lies the plague of Troy.
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The morning sun's burning peer over sylvan green decor
Leaves a languid corpse in me.
Senseless, I am lost Lazarus;
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