From the Archives...
Horizontally Folded Sonnet
A pistol that turns out to be a
folded sheet of paper. Six clocks
with alarms but none of them set.
Spilled milk. A tumble in the grass.
Dog hair on the car seat. Northern
Lights. One Mint Julep. A road-map
tattooed to an eye lid. Bullets next
to a plate & spoon. And sealed with
a kiss. Picnic basket. Hay ride. A
mechanical voice that continues to
repeat the rules. Slick gray stone.
Gulls on a hot tin roof. California
raisins. Scented candles. The rain
in Spain eating up a plain. Elephant
ankles. 100 hiccups. Four-fifteen in
Hong Kong or permed hair leaning on
a bar in a concubine halter-top.
Rubber soles. A 12-step priesthood.
Or just blow me a butterfly kiss.