snatches of winter
"I love that explosion of taste in your mouth."
Fool. Oranges don't explode.
On the windowsill, varying rolls of
white tissue. Dawn, breaking along the neighbors' bedspreads,
fawn splotches of toothpaste stuck
to the porcelain sink of sky.
They cling improbably, urchins sticking against the water,
Or the glass of the windows.
Crunch-frozen grass. Silence. The Odyssey
in a small cafe, milk and sugar, dawn and dusk.
A lion rears overhead in the setting sun.
Bee club special playing cards, in case of damage please
return, (with the ace of spades), to
some dark, forgotten corner of my heart. Still-warm cups of
tea. Above, a sullen star.
Oranges don't explode.
True sweetness bears a bite, like a smile
Or a winter's kiss.
Fool. Oranges don't explode.
On the windowsill, varying rolls of
white tissue. Dawn, breaking along the neighbors' bedspreads,
fawn splotches of toothpaste stuck
to the porcelain sink of sky.
They cling improbably, urchins sticking against the water,
Or the glass of the windows.
Crunch-frozen grass. Silence. The Odyssey
in a small cafe, milk and sugar, dawn and dusk.
A lion rears overhead in the setting sun.
Bee club special playing cards, in case of damage please
return, (with the ace of spades), to
some dark, forgotten corner of my heart. Still-warm cups of
tea. Above, a sullen star.
Oranges don't explode.
True sweetness bears a bite, like a smile
Or a winter's kiss.