Encomium

So down-to-earth 
The plodding, the bearing 
So very on the nose, poised

On the edge with a stiff 
Upper lip, this was a poet who knew 
Exactly where he was going. 

Meant Not for the Birds

not 

believing 
what 
is 

in 
the 
air 

on 
the 
coast, 

incredulous 
gulls 

flock 
in 

to 
see 

inland 
sea 

of 
garbage, 

make 
sure 

they 
bring 
back 
plenty 

mementos 
for 
scrap 

book 
of 
unbelievable 
day 

trip 
there.

Great Expectations from the Dark Night

I’ve been lying low on this hillock waiting for the sun 
To descend behind the floating blue 
Black mountains every evening for ages 
And have yet to let anybody down— 

As sure as my name is Legion, any minute 
Now the needlelike cypresses reaching 
For the heavens will begin 
Sinking into the landscape again. 

Tin Ear

Wake up— 

The music the rain 
Makes as it falls 
On the tin 

Roof’s music you’d have 
To be snoring standing up 
Under it not to hear. 

Ciphers

In the city square where strangers come and go, 
No one sees they’re being watched, stranger 
Still, none save me will ever know.