Doves With Razor Beaks Triolet

A dove would grow a razor beak
as would a monglor shaking hands
yet letting mad intentions leak.
A dove would grow a razor beak
bury alive all those who speak,
and banish thoughts that, in one's land,
a dove would grow a razor beak.

Dispersing Body

Who am I
without my body?
--A slowly descending
thing
I've definitely detached
for I hear my lips
smack
apart
and see them depart at once
discontinuous.

Who am I
without a body?
--A driftaway thing,
in clicking crickets
I'll join with soon.

Neuroplasticity

--Doing; feeling later,
much later
as doing now's against all feeling
made by the past's doing.

But it bends--how?
--and welds new iron shapes.
Here, discipline:
the transformation of all
to taken up case.

But it's not true, you say,
and so rebend the world
to suit this your new view,
and place a shape of it.

There's a Hermit

There's a hermit behind
the town he was born in.
In some woods
his youthful visage
cleared dark thickets,
his scragly balding head
reclusing further
from skeletal mechanism.

Just outside, it swarms,
but when dark, he sheds tears
for the long days ever longer,
opining these years:
the same neighbors always seen
in their windows
who turn the same way
to the same places
to the same
'till bony and creaking.

Imagiste Poem

Orange blossoms
drain under sun,
finger-tapping a fading ho-hum.

What Trees Talk About

During noonday
trees congragate around
billowing tailpipes.

"They headin' where?

With our leaves
we don't know,
just wave and stare;
can't uproot ourselves
around though scenes change
with browning air."

Cold With Neglect

If I've dance my perverse dance,
It was later than most.
As season blossoms, glittering mounds
Nurture roses with bird's jazz rounds;
Yet even more times cold with neglect,
Sends red bouquets to wilt and forget.