Category: pick 52

Bypass
iii.

The neighbor’s
flower pots
stayed out all night.

Again.

Look at them.

Throwing up
their colors.

Even the shy
and quiet ones
have overdosed

on summer.

Bypass
ii.

today
the old men smile,
dog-day sun
reminding them
of everything
that used to be
ahead.

old women hum
and think of nights
they might have danced
instead of
slept—
impossible

to know the air
we breathe
or

are we
breath?

Bypass
i.

is a train
still a train
if a soul
can’t wait?

Dreams
i.

no reticence
for mortal fall, they tumble
out of trees, infuse the air,
bid softly— come
my sweet.

forget.



translation: run, run, run
straight into

every
broken
heart.

August
iii.

whispering Aspen.
front porch creak.
summer sounds I keep—
and keep.

August
ii.

everything there is
to wish.
end-of-summer kiss.

August
i.

fields follow the sun.
wind begs to play
tag without running.

Now
i.

when you were
a doll, I
carried you.

when you were
a leaf I watched you green.
and gold.
and fall.

when you were
my lips, I
kissed you.

now you are
quiet
after storm.

Flatland
ii.

Swarming into the future
like dragonflies—
Thoughts can be pretty or
ugly as hell.



A silver battalion
charging the windows,
they try to get in
where the old ladies
separate string and the
old men sand wood blocks.



Mosquito hawks.
says one old woman.
We used them for bait
when I still had my leg.

Flatland
i.

You are old,
farm truck. Traffic has
no time for you. Hay
bales, farmhands,
cattle,

gone.

I want to chase the suns
you’ve seen. Explore
your wooden panels—

Everything
that touched you.

I want to know
why sitting at
this stoplight
makes me
cry.