robert dickerson

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the snow falls on my fathers' bed
on the foot
on the head
the snow falls on my fathers' bed
The Blinding Of Polyphemus
Discoid, huge, shining like the sun
redder, though, and far more irritated
shocking to see, pulsing, infiltrated,
starred with veins and veins,
2 A.M. Lullaby
Why, lowing dove, do you crouch alone
feeding your chant to the ear of night
blending your complaint with diesal drone
freezing your tail in the imminent light
A Charm
My lucky charm. I've lost you
for good, in the pleats of this sandy beach,
for where yesterday you slid from my shoe
the greedy waves now reach.
Bus Poem
Rheumy, achy day
planes of dull green
eclipsing dull reds
there and here scrapes of blue, a


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6/16/2021 4:06:19 PM #