Security at Auction

The mirror I left on the floor filled with apricots

was careless. But careless is something I’ve been

recently.  I didn’t want to open the book

the author had signed, crossed out his name

and signed again like a bitten into peach.

Now say something philosophical.

And when we threw him out he clanged

like an old chandelier.  A great smoker

reduced to ashes.  Outside two swans

clear their long throats.  It is remarkably

short and over like the first time making love.

Now I m writing this letter from a field of aster

And the stems are understandably long. 

Thought on the Stairs

Tomorrow a visage of ourselves embarks

in unreliable paper hats.  But tonight

they hang dampened by a long thought.

Still, their luminance can be seen for hundreds

of miles.  It is so beautiful a ghost puts down

its misty feet and walks. Places water

like a garment to its lips to quench the ash,

 and pauses like a phantom before a corner.

The breeze fills with monsters!

Everything is dangerous in the lion

skinned twilight.  Plums make for smoother

landscapes.  O sifter of words!

Seer of rumored worlds!

I pick up a heron by its neck

and carry it like a pitcher

through the millions of flagella

that feel for me.