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lake turned inhospitable

by the swallowed season


a handbag

on the moon

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meet me at the bottom

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Thank-you for the lemonade

the lake, with its blue ferns, its orthopedic mattress

a wrinkle is a sign that someone has been touched

the dance of molecules is only human

depth is rising umbilical tenderness

my beautiful bird

Eskimoes are rampantly suicidal

due to green lace

and the wrist's triangular bones

cinderella bites her toes to remember

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aaah... although opinions remain sharply divided

where would we be without Mondays?

.

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i'm all alone
i'm expecting you
to lead me off in a cheerful dance










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.








when we can hear what they are saying,
things
will get easier







(me) what is surrealism?
an invitation to every possible freedom (laura corsiglia)

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*

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Lake flamboyant lake flatulent lake forgetful

fidgetting eyeballs bounce into a chimney of lace

sugar of indifference

a clock on its side is waiting for a bus

the eskimoed robcage of her hair drifts down Pike Street

into a cauldron of rose-tipped sleep.

Walking the floorboards of this invisible boat is an atheistic church

a green sidewalk of whiskers

a mushroom-cloud of refugeed binoculars

begs the vulture to dance a mellow jig

sawed in half by the mailman

plumbing the clouds can only dream of

a precious collection of long thick scarves

to bypass the umpire

to stare at the squirrels in our laps.

Unlocking the metal fence

bringing dried flowers back to life

tranquil and restless

forgiving and hateful

the silver castle

the golden animal

the knees that swing from our bellybuttons.

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A cup is full of blue herons

Hope is a white glove i am sucking

This is the day Marilyn Monroe was seen

riding the pig at Pike Place Market

This is the day winter launched a sales campaign

while spring grimly moved its boxes of junk

into a windowless basement

Be my girraffe

This is the day warm Dr. Pepper tasted like William Blake

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