let me love the breath
you used to breathe against
my window, just to
draw a little message
in the fog.
and let me love the breath
you used to breathe in to
those fires, sending flame
and smoke and ashes
to the sky
Let me love the breath
you whispered, slipping
through the branches of
the crab-apple trees
you never really dug
Let me love the breath
you used to breathe against
my window,
and I’ll try to forget
the breath you
used to say
goodbye
There are a few rules to procrastination.
Guidelines to effective ineffectiveness—
It’s one of my favorite pastimes
And I’d like to give you a few pointers—
But first I need a nap.
life has her hands down
her pants and she’s
thinking of someone else
you are
in the
right hand
lane,
following all of the
exit signs
the crows they line up
by the high-way side
it’s getting dark out
and you’re getting tired
so you’ll go to a motel
where she will fake it
to keep
you alive
for herself
the acid rain clouds
seem to follow your car
you wonder if you’ll ever
make it home.
i cant stand in the presence
of the awe with which you
just filled the room
the sieve and the sand 