THE FINE STRUCTURE OF BLUE CORN IN A BURLAP SACK

the evening sky 
returned the last star 
to it's assigned cartesian 
inclination
and the night calm of barn owls
sank talons of silence 
into modern 
noise

the
flame
in the pit
is having 
the last 
dream 

of mesquite  

it's
reading today's newspaper 
from last week.
relaxed reeds catching spiders
and baseballs
all this

all this is dreaming

yellow 
bruise hemp
swaying  
over sand 
dunes

backdrop for my wine glass.

deadline
tomorrow
oblivious 

i could see god getting the job done. wearing house shoes.

he's bumping into things
but catching anything that falls
  always always
been good at that
however weary 
absolute Love

bottle of wine, breathing
won't tell a soul 
by telegraph
when a light buzz 
perfectly 
encrypts a moment of clarity 
and every little thing
about right now
is true

wild sage landing helicopters with glass blades

black smearing blue, jackson pollock
with van gogh's soul,

brush 
in the palm 
of my 
eye