I’m writing about a million cases
Of people entering the wrong building
Like fish swimming in the wrong direction
Like cattle falling off a cliff
Because sheepdogs were sleepy
And the lakes dry
And courtrooms just rooms.

I'm not writing about the few cases,
Which hide their patterns in empty honey jars,
And hunt a bear because she cannot be killed

Twice.

You've cleaned your flat,
given dental sticks to your dog.
The halogen heater
placed upon a bookcase.
Grandma's blanket torn.
You were always right,
and blameless.
You were always soft,
and careless.
The conspicuous pattern
surrounds your home,
The bell rings, the moment
Gone.

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A mirror for a gravestone -
our place among the dead -

Reflecting an ever changing sky.
He sees the clouds in this mirror

And the birds that fly
the sun, the stars, the night

The moon will illuminate
the exit of our lives

Cutting deep where we are
buried in God's eye.

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Though they say
Santa Claus has
rosy cheeks
to me he looked
rather pale
Though they say
he smiles a lot
he coughed a lot
in my case

I found him sitting
at an outdoor café
on a very bleak
Xmas day
I didn’t
approve of his
unwashed clothes
and he kept
blowing
his nose
to my dismay

He asked me
to give him a lift
for he had just
sold his sleigh
I asked him what
happened to my gift,
and he looked
the other way

At least he let me
finish my coffee
and hold his empty sack
which isn’t red by the way
it’s very very black

Labels: edited poems

Clear in the sense each
poem has a few dead-ends
and a passage or two,
for each thought to find
a way out of the maze
without obeying directions,
but conforming to obstacles
with anticipation.
Pausing can make one see
through bricked-up doors,
and it won’t take you long
to meet the Minotaur.
When you do, it won’t be
too close for comfort,
even if you wanted me to.

Labels: edited poems