Tooth ache. Cholera. No hehlp in sight.
Pale ministers with apologia. Crumbs on the table.
Houses asleep. The gibbous moon like a thumb.
Intellectuals sopping up milk with books.
Hostage children in each nation no matter the government.
Guided tours of old slayings in Dallas and Colombia.
The man who sells umbrellas on 42nd St. in quick rain has kind eyes.
A friend has survived his heart attack and we feel we can go on.
There’s a painter I know in London
Swears he’s painting under his eyelids–
No one has seen him in public for awhile.
Got the blues but hang it all Robert Browning
Got to take the dog out
Talk pretty to the unaffiliated innocents
Without whom, no poetry bus.
Planet of the Blind 