Surrounded by the blur of her own movements, the
thought of making him happy was very dear to her.

The moods of the cantaloupe king are moods

Of the melon king in green variations.

Both entered the orange parlor like nations

It’s late. History promises you a kiss
When she comes to bed. So you say good night.
You’re tired and can’t keep your eyes open,

At night, he ordered his own sun, which was
Supposedly arriving soon, they said

Mary and Baby Jesus in back of a plane.
In the cockpit was Pontius the Pilot.

No, we’ll not pack our bags yet. The hooves
you guys and I were hearing were just horses.

Some say it’s pickled
(formaldehyde) in the basement
of a funeral parlor in Indiana.

Not knowing the difference between Heaven
And Paradise, he called them both Heaven.
So when he shrugged at the thought of a god

I write my little song. And you call it
Guitar noodle. You write without you here.
And I call it the poem with you here in it.

The friend hugs you a little longer than usual and winks.
“Andrew was not the Brother of the Lord,” he says,
and you wonder just who is the lord in this story. Who is