hurts 2 laugh

it's only taking deep breaths
late at night
while thinking of regret

the doctor says "well, don't move your arm like that"

2 possums fought
barking
then went their separate ways

when considering
she brushes her fingertips
on the skin  above her v cut collar

no net

we catch eyes
laugh together
eyebrows

later:
that's a memory
til next

wanting it
while a distant siren passes

couldn't I be in that place

or would you then be strange to me
as others have been strange

these fingers glow like charcoal paper
erased where the shadow parts

words conceal meaning
like walking too slow round the moon to find the sun

certain things aren't butterflies
certain things are the air the butterflies fly through

old gray sack 1

I'll travel the long road in this old gray sack
full of geese and whatever else ordered in it
Bumped on rocks sometimes
but same old musty sack. Peek out
through the weave
like running past a wood fence to see through it
cinescope
who's carrying me
might pick me up again
shake off the dust
blown in after rain

standing still

Varieties of cricket sing
here is an article on crickets
this night is an extension of another time
I could look out this same window
The apartments over yonder
beyond the grassy hill and trees
beyond the sometimes farmland
sometimes weedy field
one cat or another might sit with me
now I wonder how I will be carried to tomorrow

song for woody

Hey Mr Mozart, I wrote you a song
Beethoven came to see Amadeus, study, play - not to be, for W was mad in New York dying
That man had written all the music that ever was his,
and at the end of a day all the notes can't be heard from the moon. Every day, any day, go there:
sit in the craters and listen to earth, as the men crawl dropping bombs shit curses making
no noise at all.
'Spleen' has been written. There's no need to write it again.  No one new need suffer your whims,
take joy at home.
on the keyboard, pick out old songs.  take joy.
gloria on high, on high.
there are mountains on the moon

one boy's a boy
one bird
cicadas heavy this year
squirrel's never seen a hawk. doesn't know to run.
ran a marathon once
in different shoes.
two boy's a half a boy
brother lost my bobber in the weeds one day
i never forgave because he said he'd get another, not understanding. it belonged to the dead
in those days i wanted one thing at a time
two and three magpies together, though
because i knelt weeping, asking 'please'
and still would ask, if i knew how
no boys at all
four birds
wing away