eight-course

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 ----- 7, 8; a poem in parts

1
blades of grass made man
made material
excitement wave with three-click kicks
a tongue-licks long-face
a patchwork ball rolls chivalrous


2
arachnid
rubious lip
take the edges
with the tips by the playful bite of
almost not quite

strawberry


3
if you could bake it it
wouldn’t smell as sweet


4
wide-open bloom
is mellow yellow woven
carefully on wood-loom trough

the thought truncates
in sunlight’s battered eyelash


5
stuck onto
devastation of
chalk-chipped porcelain alter
bathroom sink

error receptacle


6
the errant mind wanders
lonesome
bursting cortisol beetles
in search of gold scaramouch
til morning hollar brings


some rhythm
back into it


7
peephole dawn

goddamn
the big bright open
is a fifty foot fall

no one can make it
land joyous


8
You try anyways

because life is dot is line is
moronic morse code
message
for
one.