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When Veggies are Magic

why’d we call them

unicorns?

aren’t we talking

‘bout the horn?

square in brow

–a peg!

(a stick)

how did veggies

join the mix?

it ain’t a kernel

twixt those ears

–or corporal–

from what I hear,

I posit

pone

should be replaced

ascribing roan

with horny face.

Tai Po

Casting fate to the wind
 
During the Mirthquake of

‘17

–a 10 on the Rib-tickler scale,

and off the

sighs-mc charts

(no maudlin Kasey Kasum)

I suffused a stoke…

a symbolism
 
 
in my art Tree…

a har de har harricane

that came in great

gusts-o

those gusts!

shifting blue in my view

too Sunny Bonus

sky…

a newly swayed

shoe,

a teetering, tall, trainer

–a shoe!

that fit like a love,

and god bless…

 

He ain’t Heavy…

starburst

I put on animal hide…

hiding clothes

that hide

the animal—I

–house soul

within and

localize

–host spirit

vast

and all exists

a’lone,

all’one,

in catalyst–

evolve through time

as coil untwists,

subtract and add

in sums,

a part–

of cosmic math,

and living art,

all parts

–the sum

of what we are

–the naked ape

the mortal star.

starburst

Within T’win

road

I had a notion

to go on a journey

through my emotions

—I needed a gurney,

a cast, cane, and crutches—

such was terrain…

fulla fault lines,

and potholes of pain

and so ill-equipped

and lacking credentials,

to swing wrecking ball

I went sorta mental,

scaling the walls

I’d built to dissemble

I….

Q

&

I-

-D

a cy-clonish central.

I ran and I raged

in unlit surroundings,

a battle was waged

subconscious unbounding,

I wept in a storm

and riddled by fear–

I struggled to swim

in Big-Liddell tears.

O, the land was a mine!

(hidden)

explosive!

ephemeral

mem’ry

acidic

corrosive,

a field

in a daze

of

impulse,

and

motive,

I searched for deliverance

discovering then…

the door leading out

was deeper

within.

Poet-Tea

silver-tea
 
Steeped in

flagrante

verbs

and custom,

staged in banqu’t

room

of starred

hotel,
 
 
starting

a midsummer

afternoon until

dusk,

she invited me to hyperbole

….

a place without motif

presented petit 4’s

meant to be 8,

scones w

jams & dream,

and the traditional, time-honored

hero

–sandwiched

in unencumbered linens

on silvered tray

–tiered

in

merry

~go~

round–

requesting guests

RSVP.

wear elaborate

baseball hats

festooned with flowers,

& broach,

but leave them

at the door

–synecdoche

& shoes, too,

since,

as expected—

it was a barefoot affair

at heart.

ESPN

high-bred

Don’t take

for granted,

what’s planted

you must–

–protect

&

direct it

tendril to husk

feed it

&

weed it,

&

sweep pests from dust,

assembling

trellis

with

careful

construct…

&

most of all

in the fall

leave it

&

trust…

repose

allows rose

a rebirth

robust.

 

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