There is no collection of stranger things than when I write poetry at 2 in the afternoon.
Two facets are more beautiful than one
Among shattered men and women
there is still the possibility of a glimmer
To say that the cosmic stars are
of the laws of our universe
I find it hard to believe
deities of matter
are really the same pin holes I see
like the ones in plaster across my bedroom wall
made pretty by
a curtain of canopies.
Light goes through the pinhole
So to the physicists, the philosophers, and the cosmologists
of this side
do I see them
or do they see me?
Tickle me pink
because I hear
Twinkle-toes is coming back to town
je ne sais quoi
pardon my French
but I must tell you that
you’ve got a twinkle stuck in your teeth