There aren’t any plans, just sand dunes & morning sunshine w/ its coffee & scrambled eggs on a blue plate & so forth.
* * *
The zinnias are on the nod.
* * *
A snowdome in the midst of which is Max strumming a guitar. She has dreams about flamenco dancing on the deck of a packet boat. Were these packet boats or package stores?
* * *
Cigarettes lit & smoked in a gray frenzy.
* * *
The walls weren’t any color that’s got a name &
I wasn’t about to give them 1
* * *
The snow fell, each flake a homunculus w/ an umbrella.
* * *
Max & Jack in a parking lot under an orange marmalade full moon, & it’s dripping sweat & tears of rage & cigarette ash & bread crumbs. They all went out to breakfast.
* * *
What a plethora of picnics: & all w/ the accompaniment of a string quintet.
* * *
The stars were late—
* * *
The world’s up past it’s bedtime
It’s not the world’s bedtime it’s mine
* * *
They were never really lovers, it was just one of those unavoidable collisions in the midst of stoplights & Black-eyed Susans
* * *
How often can a memory warm a soul?
* * *
The night sky is puzzled & has only 1 cloud— there are a whole string of etcs & ampersands stretching toward the western horizon.
* * *
A lonely harmonica w/ laryngitis.
* * *
Ascending on funiculars into the constellations
* * *
A bassoon-like cough maybe like a couple bars from Franck’s
Symphony in D Minor
* * *
The nameless hour
the sky leaning upon the hills
Jack Hayes
© Jack Hayes 2010. All rights reserved
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
"The stars were late..."
...somewhere in the distant garden of dreams.
Hi Irina: Sorry to be so late in responding--have had a crazy travel schedule over the past several days. So glad you liked it!
Post a Comment