Sep 01


From the bony ruts
of the fandango halls
frogs open
their trunks full of linen

Cold is still seated
on the hills
my ears
are opaque rooms

In the notes
of what went where
hurry has pulled
my letters tight

And this could be
the night Columbo switched
all the babies
while the women danced

The house sleeps
& realizes
its older

I came out
to feel the moon
little soft treat in
waxed paper