pristine by candle light

The miracle of life
        and its peculiarities
            can wake one
                in the middle of the night.
Like a dream
        freezing itself solid,
            its magnificence, its mass,
                crystallizing, day by day,
                    year by year,
  can thaw as sudden
            as a summer storm,
and yet the majesty remains,
        to kindle like the mystery of flame,
            to leap gelatinous heat,
                consume the air
                    we breathe,
  to conceive absurdities
            of histories and Hell.

Hobo Art

I will live in a tent
        on the lawn of someone rich
                who doesn't care I'm there.

No one will be the wiser
        no address, cell phone,
                Email or high tea.

I will prune azaleas
        and paint watercolor words
                of children as leave-behind.

No one will be around
        to tell me this is
                something I can't do.

< Back | Slow Trains Contents | Roomful of Navels Contents | Other Chapbooks Next >