long stemmed flowers. I saw

Trafalga Square -- pierced by

in Charing Cross, Hyde Park, and

of psychedelic musicians singing

when bowlers sat upon the heads

or simply an echo from a hippy past

the proper rabbi or improper tramp

on during the dinner like

to the dinner party and kept

which I wore

About the hat

I slip forward with ideas, urges, and transient codas.

A storm approaches. My fingers cannot phrase my mind.

Is Richard Richard? Rains seep into the ground.

Rambling dreams fall out my head and pull me past the moment.

With my back pressed against the chair, I stare at the ceiling.

It’s Easy to Slip Past Incomplete Sentences

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...and silence sings in silken sighs.

Aurora lives in liquid skies . . .

then let her thunders lead us where...

For if nature can yet carve her canyons...

Let us slice this stagnant air.

Wait for me my wild companions!

never would I have lamented nor sought solace in my art.

Had I known not to have entered the gothic palace of my heart...

I write graffiti on your walls.

I pace your long and sullen halls.

As time left barren beauty's breast . . .