I should not be stayed here
shoveling the tide of my jaded
blue sea, my waters of birth from bucket
to bucket in weary child's play
On a pink flannel sheet, awake in winter,
on a pink pillowslip keeping my head cool
while my feet wear socks to bed for warmth
and analysis goes on.
I am neither fish nor fallen nor cut bait
nor holding money in my mouth. Neither
saved nor damned, not slave nor freaked nor
trapped in traffic, in fact going nowhere.
Did you notice how the days get longer?
I saw the sunset spread over the river later
than last month. This is our universal
our common our everyman eyeful. God bless us.
Come take me away. Come with a lottery ticket
and save me. Get me a face‑lift, a fork‑lift,
a ladder jammed with upending angels oh carry
me away to your jaded blue heaven somebody please.
Table of Contents
Ode to V. Cook
Cutting the Trees
The Agave Files
2010 - 2019
2001 - 2009