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I went to see her daily. She liked vanilla milk shakes. The ebb of her intelligence. I never told my Grandmother I loved her.

Dogs want love But they slobber and drool. Cats are loving But nobody’s fool.

Do animals see beauty in the clouds, Rifts and puffs? Or beauty in the sea? Heaven and eternity in shrouds? Or genius in the instincts of a flea?

American consumers who can afford to shop are more numerous than in other countries and indulge themselves in acquiring goods in enormous quantities preparing for disasters that may or may not come, but no matter what happens they will not do without as long as they can pay.

not the artist but the artist’s lover   the dead man found on the bathroom floor   tell him he’s gonna be famous, but all he does is cry

your home alphabet science sword silence

THE BLESSING OF TREES My blood flows in your sap My being perched in your branches My body rests in your trunk While your roots portend my future Your leaves paint the story of life’s seasons and soul Your spirit calls the wild things to your breast I am lifted by the wind in the moment MINDFUL— Lord, thank you for the blessing of trees

A long time ago I used to lean on a fence to watch my son play on a playground   That's just a memory   I've seen fences used to keep people from stepping on plants, pilfering trees   Those got old too   Now my new wife daydreams about our future house and its fenced herbs and vegetables   My mind likes to wrap itself around that idea

I met a man who owned a car an unhappy soul tied down by bits of steel and glass, I gave him my only pair of boots and cautioned him to walk away. I found them cleaned and polished in the backseat of his prison. You fool you fool I cried and set his car on fire. At last I knew he understood as I watched him walk towards the sunrise, a smile upon his feet.

Rudy the red rooster toots his trumpet to wake us at dawn and at noon leads his ten hefty hens across our green lawn, feathers fluffing and flouncing, beaks cackling and clucking toes two stepping and tapping to the rhythmic snoring of the feral feline full of Fancy Feast snoozing on the sofa in our sun porch while we watch through the window as we lunch on tuna salad sandwiches and iced tea.

The Muse, up before the sun, will shake me awake. “Wake up, you lout; the iron’s hot. Brush, take your pill, breakfast, pee. Get up!” she’ll shout   and I’ll obey, dismiss the doubt that she’s no more than a dawn dream, mythic close to this cursed drought, that she’s enceinte with form, with theme,   and will serve up both as I dash to my desk, uncap my pen and luminously versify. Sure, she’ll come tomorrow—that’s when.

With its creature incoherence, with its engine bent on nothing,   with its edge and its existence and its fuse that refuses no night,   the bat allows everything beyond itself to rush   in against its echo.   I would live there listening for shapes   I might add to my own.   In that world of sound, what maps, what songs?

Life, what are we here for? We must find a way to answer this question moment to moment providing for ourselves shelter and income and the civility to pay debts   in between filling our stomachs   and those of fellow humans   with and without indifferences now until the end of time.

How do you respond when someone calls you a tall drink of water? I mean, when it comes to the mentality of old men like this, I really have no intention of quenching anybody’s thirst.

Hearing that loud bang I ran from my room Breathless, to the sound Seeing nothing in my frame of sight Rationalizing there is no reason Still a fear envelopes me My heart races and palms sweat Mentally my mind takes a leap and bound Appearing then, shapes where none had existed Smelling odors that do not belong Hearing now, voices long gone Excited, a raw energy courses over my body Moving quickly inspecting all crevices Bracing myself for one more surprise Looking in that la