they stuffed cigarettes in my pack

the statue with no name
is three legs,
four interlocked arms,
two stand alone arms.

it reminds me that their words
were never designed to boast,
just seduce us
deeper into ourselves
so we too might know the sound of
different instruments
and play fusion one day.

supermarket silence

she scans grams and expiration
with one eye as taxi driver
the other a farmer;
a creation story in reverse.

the swing of milk carton
from fridge to shopping kart
is the lost majesty of an elephant trunk
bypassing tree rings of ego
to earth as an orphan,
this psychic warfare in aisle 8
is a necessary drone.

chaos in the breakfast window

the shag carpet shows a path
of envy disguised as bandit.
she flings plates of corned beef hash.
the regulars barely notice.

i slip a napkin poem under the sugar tower
and dream of a next time coffee
around half moon diner.

even a little while is forever

manabush swoops into menominee’s valley
and like all previous springs,
miller park’s box seats
become porcupine needles
of no apparent clone.
carlos gomez is a spasm
and flirting .400 is more than a number.
it’s a jamboree of beer can pyramids
stacked in talisman fraternity
with mirth and merry
treating murphy’s law
to some after hours of
impossible dreams do come true,
in may anyway.

the still wind of border crossing

the challenge with backpacks, religious paraphernalia,
press pins, political causes, and what not
is laying down in a bed of leaves
and drifting away,
silently.

when toes yawn

nation no flag
is a kite
ascending in
virgin heraldry
of any which way
darting weightless
above
park of no guillotine;
just nudists,
hackey sacks,
and hands set free
smiling at strangers.

when audio codecs mute

the miracle of geese in v-flight formation
is the communism of reduced drag
echoing blue print ventriloquy
into minds of sudden possibilities;
our eyes ascending hills in premonition.
no trespass is just a sign.