The Concise Guidebook Contains Everything
I feel, dear November, a thinness beginning.
Your sky today insists on the color of rooming house sheets.
Enough of polls—no one polls the sparrows on who should rule the world.
The white roses still in bloom on Summerdale Avenue, do they clarify the nature of November morning light?
The concise guidebook contains everything you need to identify seventeen varieties of cloud.
I was dwelling past midnight in the house of your silence.
Why wear the color of blood at all, unless you want to attract the attentions of every hungry wolf?
Sometimes the empty bus arrives just in time.
All my ducks are in a row, they just need to be nudged until they waddle.
We live every moment in the grand perhaps.
The wolves might howl but they cannot get in.
I’d like to state for the record that all the birds of the world at last belong to me.
Enough of elections—the trees did not vote on the closing of the day.