Senryu
I kneel
before the stone cross; a fly
wringing its hands
again, he
waits
in line to buy Super 7...
new moon
guests
long gone…
debating over the price
of the gift
subway station...
all ears are covered
with headphone sets
her
thigh prints
on the waiting room sofa
two watermelons
Buffet King
at dusk
enough on your plate
yes, divorced and broke
an eagle's
shadow circles me...
chicken dinner?
catwalk
models...
rows of middle-aged men
sit quietly
rewriting poems all day
a voice sounds like my own
yelling, Enough!
from
hymn to hymn
the Sunday sermon takes
the shape of her face
Easter
morning:
sunlight reflected
from the wine glass
deep tissue
massage—
what happens between
the poet and words?
Fine Art
Gallery
full of still life paintings
her bouncing breasts
immortal through cloning…
he wonders what to do
on a Sunday
