John Dillinger and Baby-Faced Nelson in a dream together - one shooting holes thru theories of his untimely death, the other frying in an old-time (e) Electric Chair with balloons waving, bonbons...
A face in the mist, with rain around, clings to bare leaves frowning. A face through the mist, convulsed, plays stationary, perching from twigs. A face, not knowing it, trust it is good.
I met Bear at the 5 n' dime sipping a Cream Soda he was voluble & needed to talk... "I got a shit-load on my mind," mumbling something about some run-in with a Mountie - tampering...
For one, street argot became tougher. You had to distinguish between what you meant by calling someone a mother. The Black Panther influence, no doubt, but a rejuvenation of the...
Riel veritably in a cockpit - Gabriel Dumont with his buffalo robe peeking from behind a blind at Duck Lake all ingredients intact, a gallow's walk inevitable given a series of probable givens....
That Captain Kidd scribbling of rock in the fields yellowed bristle of pages back of a farm where piratical breaking of land knocks clean holes in the soil, gypsy dancers vernal growth before...
If flies be dragons and they may you know. In large desiccated brambles where wasps go involuntary blue-green coelacanths these Devil's Darning Needles wedge in Flying Circuses...
The polar stars drip in blood . . . Orion's mythical crystal white with clarity of forest and low expanse of sky; wooden barques, incandescent, row peals of silver light sowing each slough of wave,...
The preciseness of that little moment, bowler eyes in hot, top rays effervescent through spongy forest gloom, the wet of the happy unreconciled with the dry outside.
I have thrust my fists up to ice in the galactic mire of lake, lured my minnow wriggler eyes as bait to ensnare inroads, lake bed wreaths, across the windchill spine of brooding heart. ...
The embankment lies as heavy edges on our lives. The shadows of the rock, piled drifts huge monotony's ledge, accumulations by the side of the tree wear thin visages; the breath of summer eclipsed....
When the shadows are hungry animals on walls and theatre goers are parliamentarians engaged in a repast or feast of words. the lone house stands as a stone shard or sliver...
These eyes of dolls seem leaden stones not canisters of the Faith but cannon-balls engraved in tome-like stares so much waxen shapes, these dust cloths & spidery webs.
A beach back of bric ' brac, wine goblet of sky ... . the horizon beginning somewhere between Nod & nigh unto forever with only the sigh of a Casuarina pine or sea-grape to force a smile. ...
The night is folly without the moon, trees blank space against a frontal sky where lattice work from a bled fish reveals skeletal markings will not administer the red jack of hearts to a mistress sea. ...