Myths and Old Matters

Sometimes, meanwhile, actually
I arrived, into the street, on a canvas
so help me, the book, your novel
in early fall, has been called
our innuendo, the college
wishes to remain nameless
the oval of good nature
flags waving and cleaning up
timekeeping for the dying
the time, the station, the train
by some, offered, imagined bride
free and ready to wear these shoes
and brings the kiss with you
the myth of old matters
crossings and love
of uncertain lonely quarrels
of ourselves and these parts
and consequences
that I have to offer

Same Title

Nothing is ever accomplished by
the nullification of the other.
Yes, and Elexis doesn't understand!
Doesn't even own a bow
until after we saw the old movie
with the Indians and then
went right out for a pair of moccasins.
How we've been misled!
That was the same conversation I had with Elsie
as we planned our non-sequitorial ambitions
just as the world ended
peaceably.

For All I Know

For those who eat their lunch there's chocolate cake.
And for those who watch the moon casually
turns like a violet wheel under the train bridge.
For those the olive love after the flood summons
in the darkened color of its enlightening
a grateful basket shimmering of thoughtfulness.
For those who sleep clouds like drowned
pillows float about a fishy river.  Inexact definitions,
excerpts of dreams, shadows of sunny nudes shinning
like a penguin coat caped with curtains knitted by a swallow,
forget the tenuous tap of water.
A dog laps and ...has it been years?
That poetry (after all) flashed it panties,
and young, we gave it a slanted look.
Not a shard of misery came down our street
though the birches were as fierce as the hiss
of caterpillars claiming that their tomato world
had led them here.  They could have been singing
for all I know as I set them aflame.
Their underbellies darkening like the clouds before the rain.