the oblong pilgrim

alas now by mule
to our village near the sky
where rainbows tremble

************************************

fires hush the town
a most tragic story untold
the woods burn down
all logic begins to unfold

I but a pawn
on a planet blistered by flame
life about gone
existence a dark-ended game

*******************

The Voyage

how the brook dwindles in the heat
and delight fades into darkness
so the artist creeps down the stairs
as the moon shivers
from behind a cloudy foam

**************************

wooden back porch swing
and canasta with g-ma
on old signal hill

**************************

weary little runt
haversack in hayloft
old-time woodcutter
leaning on a weeping willow

**************************

Monte Alban glyphs
in ceremonial dance
spouted and strolled about
and cried to the moon
wither and where?
yet nothing was sung to me
as they were busy
with the long moon
and my heart is oaxaca, oaxaca

************************

cheeks dip back
cloudy eyes so huge
somersaulting hunger

***********************

meddlesome scoundrel
bungler weak in the forelegs
mothballs in pocket

***********************

foul-smelling
jabbering
nincompoop
slowly consuming
a wagonload
of ship-biscuits

*****************

covered over so carefully
fallen unevenly
moss lower down
unsure footprints
beneath the moldy earth
sledge-hammer dreams
graveyard mounds
as darkness beckons

+++++++++++++++++++

light butterfly blues
by a flower sipping tea
O sweet celandine

+++++++++++++++++++

dark blueberry eyes
in an attic of delight
soft delicate love

+++++++++++++++++++

an old pond tortoise
asleep in a pile of mud
winter ice forming

+++++++++++++++++++

the flight of an owl
on a lonely quest for god
reveals nothingness

+++++++++++++++++++

so wonderful the decline
how sweet the lowering
crumbling asundering
ebbing delightfully
sliding toward stillness
unravelling simply
secretly tumbling
fading along down
reaching under
slipping ever

++++++++++++++++

fragrance of haunted syllables
rising from a marble basin
a bellyful of meek doctrines
bubbling and whiffling from within
thus a philosopher per chance
bathing in a solemn landscape
as our world trans-shifts to powder

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

+++++++++++++++++++