Inhale the odors of space:

Of cinnamon

Of leaves

Of leaves of cinnamon

Strung together with moss

and feather, yellow-starred fronds

cheaper emeralds and still more expensive jades

Feel the squash of:



Ignorance of better things:

Of nobility

Of royalty

Of thinner blood and thinner lips

of thicker thighs and fatter hips

Blink the colors of:

Neon lights

Pastel brights

tepid orchid stains

quiet dripping rains

tap-dancing on broad-way again (can't resist the


Taste the sour of:

Green apples too ripe and young

milk staid in the 'fridge too long

chalk disintegrated in the cellar bygone

Not once touched by child's hand

Deprived of child's touch

drunken off of dust

and spider loneliness, arachnid cries

In silky spider-web twilight.

Can't get enough of it, had much too much of it

Hear the song of:

My good-byes.

Strange things your mind does.