smiling . . .
a cloud with nothing
better to do
a something
that keeps me from
skipping stones . . .
twatching you wade
through heaven's river
white lilies . . .
singing the language
of water
riding home in
a jeepney through a
dream that
went sour, a text message
chanting bamboo song
listen, owl . . .
the wind mimics
your prayers
you act like
it never happened . . .
her anger
tossing our dreams
out the front door
heavy rain .. . .
a worm seeks higher
ground
a facial
with new age music . . .
the feint song
of people talking with
out-of-tune hammers
brushing leaves . . .
tea dances with remnants
of autumn
nun-like,
she walks with her
head down
cleaning streets in
front of schoolmates
the glimmer
of morning on a
jeepney's tail
she's wants
to let another
man fuck her
so she can have a child
that looks quapo
she speaks to
a bamboo, and becomes
the bamboo
she will stop
at nothing to get
what she wants . . .
a wriggling tialapia
waiting to be filleted
feel the wind . . .
it carries another
man's words
what we want
takes time and coffee...
dreams don't pop
up from paintings, walking
through mute rainbows
ant, could i
have been you in
a past life?
worker ants
carry food to
their queen . . .
not questioning
what's right or wrong
mid-winter . . .
a leaf's shadow plays
catch with a moth
the day's
coming when arched backs
will straighten
and rice fields will be
be tilled by their owners
robert d. wilson
©2009
