Heaven #4

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