:::

 

The shadows stand hard outlined 

sleep split like a torn quilt

poor north wall aged like a femur.

You can whistle through from ear to ear

not even the mating cry of the hawk

can drown out the traffic.

Two ladies in a narrow alley

one of them with foxy eyes

the other with a wedding dress made of wind.

Tell what they are tearing you

lift the wasteland with seagulls company

before the weeping wall.

You must pull the frost from oh & oh

pout lifts the scarcely tamed dreams

cackling boy barely yet full June.

Cry the fallen grey weather

you are leaf-springing fruitfulness

the butterfly has jumped out of its cage.