lake turned inhospitable

by the swallowed season

a handbag

on the moon


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


aaah... although opinions remain sharply divided

where would we be without Mondays?



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


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

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



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.
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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