Poetry
what time an ice pick
merlins in a chill thicket
hunters the low fog
an authorized zone
apposed a rediscover’d
horizon below
witless the other
broad awkward forward the blue
clearly the hart’s red
what time they hover
silhouett’d greeneries
moss on a cold cairn
part from the old lime
the leaf the stone a dim light
an aul-kin not far
and the hours dun
to a ruin tumbled to
star bent seclusion
when a wheel well rose
‘thru the rush of gold motes
knot so fore the logs
those plastic mesh bags
for oranges or tangerines
aren’t good for coin
her hunch the bustle
comes back quickly refashion’d
but now she’s hungry
blue bottle entrees
weigh tables moreso atip
on a clipper ship
what time the Stanza
too much an iceberg salad
for an ocean green
for the crew in blue
as the sky floats an island
and the buffet queues
She was wary
of men who
were not Harry,
Harriet was,
swingin’ in
her chariot
as she woo’d
all in woad
high born
neighborhoods
She understood
men in hoods
where they stood
not so merry
as they tarry,
but she’s chary
her goods,
would marry
good Harry
by the Bury
steady air tip Top
parasols of rabbit fur
why is there a kite
ribbons to disguise
the other things I hold to
would I split apart
could I patch the rags
at Tumbleweed in twilight
with a broken heart
only to behold
three leaf clover leaf before
off tramp’d overpass
new-it all went to
in a desert dowsing sticks
laid where we’ll find bones
armadillo toes
or a gila monster tail
and tarantulas
on the shoulders of
roadrunners we’ll pass at last
almost out of gas…
to a station near
no-good-time a close-up shot
not-1 had the film
ayaladn 