October 10, 2009

old woman,

your outstretched cup . . .

bitter gourd?

without your

cell number, i'm at

a loss for words . . .

if i make a book for

Renzo , can we talk?

where is

moses, the street's

filled with toads

childhood friend...

he steps on leaves

the texture

of those having

been there and back

twilight dawn . . .

blow flies covering a

mother's dream

she's afraid

of and loves me

not knowing

what to do when i

walk through windows

a gecko

tonight, singing

lullabies

day and night

i hop from cloud

to cloud

forgetting the

world around me

silence . . .

a field of toads

without words

it took you

a while to cool off . . .

this morning,

a glimpse of you

washing our new car

look, a

christmas tree made

in china!

how can i

sleep tonight knowing

my words cut

you into pieces in

front your co-workers

swathing me

with lavender oil. . .

bamboo song

you stepped

out of my words into

a caption

standing on its head

above my heart

robert d. wilson

©2009