Saturday, October 10, 2009

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

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


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