hard rain popping underfoot,
everything gleaming
Under a street lamp
he keeps thrashing and punchinga foe who’s not there
Tiny black bird’s song—
like squirting silver liquidin the sunny air
*
Old men turn into
babies and laugh in these cloudsthat keep drifting past
A smiling toad’s face
of clouds in the wind-torn sky—platinum twilight
Cigarette model
free from his billboard era—now a puff of cloud
*
Tonight’s drooling rain—
as if the roof of heavenhad ten thousand leaks!
She’s tracing her eyes
with a pencil stub on this bumpy speeding train!
Rushing water sound
of wind in trees and traffichurrying homeward
*
The late plum blossoms
pink against a stormy skylook like fleeing birds
.
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