To Oz Moses, Horticulturist

Plucked by a cryptic hand, no more 
Flower trysts for you, my friend 

Who cultivated the light openly 
Hoping it would never end. 

New Leaf

Quick, quick, the leaf, the leaf! 
How full of joy that

Whosoever has the eyes 
To weep when e’er a dying

One turns slowly over
And falls asleep. 

Fixation (In the Manner of O'Hara)

I don’t have a cat 
But if I did, I know 

I’d want it to be 
Like Frank’s great 

Orange tawny one, Boris 
(Armed with Madness) Butts, 

The one he describes so lovingly, 
Aptly in “Cantata”— 

And if you want to know 
Why, you’ll just have to 

Part with that wild hair 
Up your ass, too.

Smoke Screen

We all drive by 

The homeland the scene 
It looks terrible 

All these people up in smoke— 
No body screams. 

Misunderstood Muse

Year after year she wasted away 

Consuming notebook after notebook with what 
Husband and son imagined contagious nonsense— 

Having kept their distance, it made sense after 
She departed to chuck the lot in the fireplace. 



NB: Sadly enough, a true story which transpired in a neighboring village many years ago; only the roles of the spouses have been exchanged to make it and the title more “poetic”.