Thursday, July 11, 2013



After the storm last night, the sky
turned to cadmium hues, yellows – really –
it was like peering into the throat
of a honey-colored lily.
We’d never seen anything like that,
summer sky like a glowing firefly
and to the southeast
a rainbow in reply –

We watched King of Comedy after that;
it made me squirmy, embarrassed.
I wondered about other artist friends –
might they have felt it – that Rupert was like us,
believing in what we make
while the world taps finger to temple
thinks us a touch out of our minds –
insufficiently observant

of social cues and rules, we are
– loving everybody and everything
a little too much.
I wanted to crawl back to my cave, to tell the truth.
I would never kidnap a star
and go to jail, to get the world
to notice me and what I do.
Maybe I need to be crazier.


  1. Oh forget Rupert and craziness.
    Forget in particular measuring.
    Recollect the throat
    of the honey-colored lily.

    "It was enough today
    to see the invisible
    garlands of flight patterns
    songbirds looped
    over the madness of the garden."


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