If one truly wants no more
Has few, if any, demands of
Is satisfied with less than
Can comfortably do without
Blue buttons, bits of string
Tinfoil stars, dead scorpions
River stones, pins or needles
Shards of an ivory watch face
Can opalescent bubbles cage
These very thoughts at night
Bringing them nearer to art
Erasing their lone nativities
D. A. 6/9/09
Inmate striped bedsheets
Cloaked in Roswell dust
Neon in the early shade
We, the same genesis (genus), are
An alien sex
Our old skins hung
From a red star, the dead star
Blinking, thinking of 51
Next to the closet door
Saucer shoes piled underneath
I try to leave, teleportation-
Time for a planetary day
You watch the burning grass
Concentric signs, I will return
D. A. 6/2/09
Gold Fissure
My mind splits
Free hemisphere
Just then
A Presence hung
On a folding chair
I murdered
Five spiders there
In the corner
Mother of Pearl
Duality reveled
Above my bower
Unannounced
D. A. 4/11/09
