Friday, April 21, 2017




liver-dark urine
in a sunlit kitchen
27 mice in the closet
and a cat who's new

Van Gogh cycles
a paint so yellow
it kisses sunlight
like the Magi the east,
like a nun...the truth

waiting all night
in an old train station
boy toys and hookers
mill beneath the roof
of the greasy spoon
bar there
where all the 
noise is

and this music from a lyre
that's mute
and no songs on
a guitar that's blue

and flies teem on me
in the deep bush
by a swamp
that's itchy and wet,
deep and rude

and climbing a rock
face and gasping
on my back as
I watch...
the crescent moon.

(C)2017 by W.G. Milne

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