FROM A HATCHBACKS COPILOT CHAIR

those heavy cloud banks
shouldering low 

over the hill i know

i wish they were
the distant mountains
they pretend to be

& we could climb them
past the ash tree line

packs on our backs

& camp there
free of grit & kipple

in the shape of strings

HAIKU TWO

organs watered

i am careful with the sun

summer river mood


~


the daily machine

is rust & meds & meat &

grit got in the oil

A LOGICAL WAY

we

render

our 

animal experience

into cannibal tallow

to ease the grit 

in the bearings

of the carbolic wheel

in the mad hope of pearl

peace

& a logical way