Campfire Pop

Campfire Pop

The hot medium of flames smacks

upward, whacks sheer eyes

with a stencil of blue and green.

Foreigner

Foreigner

There is a foreigner
on this shore.
From foreign lands, with
Foreign hands,
Knocking at my door.

The Lions on the Library Ceiling

The Lions on the Library Ceiling

Have you seen the lions on the library ceiling? They’re pawing at the edges of ontology, where flowers bow like gentlemen with Sinatra-style fedora hats. Everyone is lithe, lither than pigeons bopping on the curb and squirrels scrambling at a crumb of bread, and yet the lions lie in stubborn stone. Nothing to do but dance. 

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