Riot of birdsong
in the blush of morning dusk—
you want me to work?
Man walking alone
in a tanktop in winter
lecturing himself
“In bed with the flu—
for entertainment I watched
an old fly die”
—my friend Ron
*
Sipping tea at dusk,
shoulders droop into looseness—
puppet free of strings
Bright strip mall sidewalk—
blind old man and blind girl clash
their canes in passing
A cloud drifting by
with a Founding Father face—
what’s he plotting now?
*
A grinning shaman
in a listless old palm tree
gives me the finger
.
