Thursday, July 16, 2015


The House of Whistle

Organic birds
chop the morning
into seven after-
noons.  No colors,
just charcoal.
Famous last
words reduce
life to sediment.
I would be dead
were it not for
telekinesis.  I
drew the blinds
and there you were
wearing a lampshade
for a helmet.  It’s
a thousand wonders
I ever noticed the
hippo on the road
to nowhere.