“Hold, just grab the grass,” counseled my link
to the humanized, floricultured top,
when, on the incoming tide, the waves
tall and brown in a fog, basaltic

Falling to
his potting-mix-brown
avenue—

Phyllis says she makes a good bear.
I don’t really want to trade a quilt
for a teddy bear. Neither

         Whatever is expressive 
about clumsiness (bad knees), 
        disproportion (potbelly, 

After a bad night,
Goya might have invented turkeys.

Almost swamped by ink,

The best Buddhas blaze, inert, in Boston;
they shine like babies in a bath
because Bostonians are bitter

Stuff my eyes with clouds.
   Dangle tender mites above my lashes till
      the lids go lank

Here is the rock behind which she rose from the unpleasance of sea-foam.

   “Just who did kill Dr. Brewer?” Nurse Kelly asks in the caf on break.
   “I resent your asking.”
   Her eyes flit about the room. “I know you’ve been seeing his former wife,” she says,

The devil, for one, is a philanthropist.
He gave so much