| The fat rabbit's fate |
A gray pearl irridescence shines from sullen sky |
similar to grandma's scent |
| his windshield wiper tail |
Like the worm in the bottom of a bottle of Mescal (or
Mezcal) |
How are your sky high fliers now? |
| the bouncing red ball |
Minutes drag like time-locked hours |
the sun shines but it is cool |
| the hiss as steak hits the grill |
a fat rooster crows |
in streets snow-glistened |
| bouncing like ping pong balls in a bingo caller's
box |
Vast vistas of voltaic light |
Such things always conclude bad |
| A foul scowl fell across his lean jowl |
Spring pokes its green fingers up through the cold
earth |
She slid into blessed indifference |
| the chill echoed inside and out |
The chunk of wood split open the linoleum like a
child's scalp |
as honey amber burns it's crust |
| I shiver, think how easily a pendulum can swing |
in dew dim light the sea birds call |
while billowed sails of tall ships fall |
| Sit and listen to the quiet of nature |
excited waves begin their race |
lifts my lonely prayer |
| The wind parades across the roof |
It will yield presence of mind |
beating its big bass drum |
| Stark against a somber sky |
from the kitchen wing, the teakettle sings soprano |
In difficult times |