Beyond and I

These sheep
With their dogs
Lips puckered suckling
On this engorged teat
In the garb of a
Fountain of youth

It doesn’t creep nor does it
Seep into the cracks
Between the bricks
It’s there
always there
just as night and day

and the seams on the beams
set the moving stairs
to think
for themselves
the birds chirp and revel
in the machinery of farewells

their wings
oh, their wings
bone and feather
would melt in the sunlight of something realer

than the industrial tarp
above our heads
tricks into blue
white gray sometimes green
when it hasn’t been cleaned

so it seems
Yes, it seems!
Under our noses
Blindfolded by some animated mirage
Nothing would be pleasure besides ripping through the tarp

With a knife
But always it turns to dust
Before my eyes can see it

And I’m left in lust
Of nothing I can feel
Certainly not to be it

The Clock and the Fountain

You can never be sure
Of the light that
Glints off
old rings
and gold wings
of silver,

hanging behind
faded suits
On a wooden hanger.
The sidewalk light
Hides on some
Chosen dust on the floor.

Too many times
I’ve kicked down the door,
found a jar of fireflies,
and just a diamond of mirrors.

So I throw on jacket of old flesh,
wings on the thres-
hold of seeing.
Being usually is the word
That lets me soar free.
I’m sorry I’m not a sorry story

of chasing the biggest cloud.
The biggest cloud came to me.

Mountains are just
a piece of key
lime pie.

See time fly
A clock’s wings and the fountain in the sky