"On the Surface," "As Well," and "Primitive"

On the Surface

I do remember a huge
bird dancing on the crown of my head
when I couldn’t tell air from water.
By the way,
did you know that the stars are rootless
and exchange places every moment?
Yes, the bird was dancing
because it had lost its shadow
and was unable to locate the nest.

As Well

It's the moon made in Beaker, CO
where undead cottontails live.
They read poems to dying stars
and invent exquisite poisons for the poets.
They devour dog-eared gospels of death,
torn pages of incorporeal voyage,
confusion and misunderstanding.
Blame your dreams, they advise you, and Martian flu
for whatever has happened down below.
Look for rum in the sewers, rejoice, go postal.
It is hard to prepare excuses for trees and waters,
but they do it as well.

Primitive

In the afternoon several trees had become
silly lessons to passing clouds.
Time has tedious creases and gaping pits,
said the specter of a dead painter.
Insects tried to hide from her,
along with some horses, to no avail.
I have never had even a taste of the grave, she said.
I am running from one garage sale to another
in a desperate search for some earthenware.
I have a slice of dandelion pie,
but nothing to eat it from.
My friends the coyotes and the chiefs of the land,
as usual, think I am an idiot.