Cloud Houses


In heaven
Where coins are useless
No need for eyeballs


Boat rotting on the beach
Ghost still rows
What happens
Is relatively simple


Houses, barns, trees
Proclaim in mannered voices
Those who presided here.


Turns on his radio
For psychotherapy


Andante Favori
A dance with animals, autumn


“He thinks the moon is a small hole at the top of the sky, proving the sky quite useless for protection.”

—Elizabeth Bishop

Blind man with pictures in his head…


I make cloud houses for a living
I’m a fair singer also

Don’t judge my posture


Poor Achilles, always a mama’s boy


Eat more American prunes


Cat stares down coyote
Past lives are decisive


Best anagram ever: “Public relations” = “Crap built on lies”


Imagination had been grudging
Now it was doggish
Over there and over there

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

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