WILLOWS or FIRE IN HOUSES

I like to have time to myself,
when the fire moves me.
Beyond the willows lies nothing
but mischief and wrongdoing.



DONKEY IS BEAUTIFUL

When I look at the donkey,
there is a little beauty. Three times.
Buxom, extra legs are pretty on me.
On buildings, I draw conclusions
about being a landmark, donkey.



IT’S COMING

When little things shake, you cry.
When faces get heavy, or full, it’s time.
I cover this place, this field, with grey fields,
on custom. Lightly, with fingers, we’ll carry
this back towards something, like stones.
We’ll gather things nightly, one night soon.



KEEPING SAFE BY DAY

Softly, we run among the wildfowl.
Weird, it’s common. In some countries,
we might sleep by day; however, across this place,
the birds are sad, nocturnal creatures. They harvest
the nests, underneath stones sometimes.



THE FIRST ARMCHAIR, or WRENCH

The only time I took a bath,
I stunk. Never have I stunk since.

JEOPARDY or WHEEL OF FORTUNE?

Personally, I can’t mistake Jeopardy for
Wheel of Fortune.



WHEELBARROWS OF GOLD

I am running towards nothing; I cry heavingly.
Nightly, language calls about wheelbarrows.
When it calls, I surge, cradle myself like a blue baby,
go to a bill store, purchase tiny bills, make bills from creation today,
tomorrow, tear aforementioned bills from nests worldwide.
Smelly bills float better in smelly sand or wax or swings.
I jump to jiggle; I scrape the box of shoes.
I tackle like a fox, a crowd.