Unbuttoned in the Buttercup Meadow

wooly goats grazed in the
blue sky
like prehistoric dream cabbage

snap out of it man

a long way ocean off
I saw the never to be always
mind with earth sleep and fire

tonight your attention
comes, commanded, unadorned, unexplained
off center

the brilliant colors have faded

there’s death on the hillside
…wind and death in the
late afternoon June
near chapel and dungeon

In Manhattan, glitter
in Santa Ana, flowers

Here, smashed, on the farthest point
of the peninsula
a surviving thought toppled out of me
and flew off, sadly.
I had hoped to colonize
an island with it

something about my aunt
and a catholic bishop

I faced a loaded gun

was there or was there not another woman?


The icy Lobe of De Moines
was my muse
her thick peppered
impenetrable ice
of Paleozoic thought
dumped me in her alluvial plain
oh Buena Vista!

You’re going to check my luggage?

sunlight streams through the street
should we praise death?
should we trumpet
the pink turned ashen?
will we then reach our
full strength?

Blue Fountainhead

No more walks in the woods for you mister!
At this rate, the pain enveloping
your dirty down sloping body
will bespeckle you with weak white
blossoms and soon bury you
just off the dirt road not
far from the waffle house

bennies and benzos aren’t about
to help you now.

the black train comes

the floors walls
and windows shake

I’ve lived too long alone

there will be an exchange

officials in uniform will
do the transaction


by late night
as shape arrived
I was comforted by the notion
that both McGrath and Jesus
also endured loneliness cruel

to be not alone
over breakfast
is Saturday sunny
buffalo jam on toast

let that thought
linger as if true

this journey bears
my weight to the horizon
of Havana’s green ocean

I’m alive and eating the day

Phineas Gage

Next to the window
a mother and child
stared out at the goats
and measured the clear morning


In the future cool
I will undress you
and tell tales
through night’s power

most of the past is lost
and hangs heavy

St. John’s Cross
Dark Glasses

I feel generally unbuttoned

walk with me Ella
up through the buttercup meadow

bring your children

nature by nature we’ll
worship at the alter
of no answers

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