The fallen leaves
of a sheltered tree
form a shadow
made of yellow,
a pointillist shadow
painted yellow,
‘til the wind blows
angled and low
to send that shadow
on its way -
or ‘til the leaves
turn brown and crisp…
whichever comes first.
The sun is out after
days of gray,
and no fog or cloud stands
in my way
of seeing skies of blue.
deep in the cave,
there’s a hole that knows no light;
everything
and nothing can reside
within that black hole
Nothing is straightforward,
or simple.
Everything is a messy mix
of shades
blended in swirling clouds—
chaos clouds.
Those who can redraw the world
with sharp, angular boundaries
are the masters of self-deception:
for all deception is self-deception.
How does one master menace,
carving optimal malignancy
into a festive orange orb?
Sometimes the faces intended
to convey happy holiday blessings
are the most creepy and disconcerting…
you know, like with real peoples’ faces.
Sometimes the faces intended
to torture souls and rend psyches
are over-the-top and campy or silly…
you know, like with real peoples’ faces.
How does one master menace
on a festive orange orb?
wild grape on a wall
is a multi-clawed monster…
in my mind
leaves are falling
throughout the city, &
someone sweeps them up
foggy Fall morning:
one bank is clear, one hazy —
both of one river
Tiger Riding for Beginners 