I read
a poem
once where
the river
was on
fire.
Lost in
a forest,
ruins
appear.
What next,
I thought,
what will
end this
adventure?
Written
in stone
on the
decaying
column
(the corner-
stone) is
the Greek
inscription—
“Let all
enter who
will. Let
the rest
pass.”
What next?
I keep
walking
and come
to a tree
whose roots
appear as
a woman.
Long legs
and arms
reaching.
Then I
found
what was
next.

found poem from a book by David Deich

concentric rings
diverge and scatter
then contract
everything is balance

you must know
your enemy
and yourself
otherwise you
become your
own enemy

the one hand
clapping starts
weaving spidersilk
through the stars

eiderdown soft
stop look listen
be in the now
mix things up
advise often given
seldom heeded

What can I say?
Art happens!

stones fling from the ocean
I fill my pocket
ask my husband Bob
if he likes this one or that
and he startles with
a yes or no
and picks one out

this is perhaps
the first thing
we have
done together
in the past twenty
years except
reading books
across the table
at a restaurant

an old man
walks alone
on the beach
and tells
me—“if you keep
looking you
might find
an agate”

Cents. Sense. gulls fly overhead in a mall parking lot Sense word play banjo rhythm Morgan Freeman voice can sell you any type of science why did the coastline go off
the grid out of time losin my mind catpaws with the bass so loud the rapper appears to rumble rum rum rum rumble news out of line so I row down the sidewalk happenstance not a chance a fireball in the doorway a pleasure dome not over home where the vib vib vib vibration signals the pain of growing old while the young want to be seen the old sometimes are invisible the green is lost when the car falls apart music so loud it is another illusion go join the moon find a spoon pretend to spoon a good old-
fashioned persuasion summer tossed your mother cross Ben-Gay cold therapy every-
one hurries to their destination—away from the car with the loud rage cursive meditation
recommendation salutation—more hormones, less brains fried coast tame plain music
fame then insane put it in gear, son, don’t drive with your blick, dick a nerd rumble love
Saturday night in the joust mall lot game where they run blame parents for everything
talk too loud shout the crowd pearl essence baby sanguine down tough crowd proud where are jobs a future horn bleaks look out for freaks cross street cross dressing then stepping in line with a desert and then the sun sets over the sidewinder the play blinder wish you were here so you could cry too the sky has lost its lavender hue a simple walk talk block sock rhythm block

Goldenrod and sunflower fields
fade in a year of daily writing.
Each sun-rise-and-set break the sky,
touches a hand-wheel.

A hint of melancholy—
never the same sun-rise-or-set
twice—a holiday’s last song.
Things that lead nowhere,

all paths taken. Bittersweet
the hues, soft sweet steps
that lead to autumn. Step-

leaves of many colors, two
children hand-in-hand in
some ancient painting,
two old people walk down

the tree-lined path: one spring,
one autumn. A coffee table
dream almost at the eye of the book.
I hope my mind goes first.

There are a lot of things I want
to forget. Bits of the planet fly off
the east coast, all quarks and quasars.
Why do we
want to remember?

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