The Gravy Canoe of Wild Wyoming – 7 
The Toast Technology of a Chicken Maniac 
The Breath of Los Angeles 
The Outlandish Dapple of a Carnival Creep 
The Potion Maker 
He turns to the window again, spreads the drapes like he would a woman’s legs.
The city is there, staring back.
Tattooed gray homeless shelters, black as witches’ wings ramp and soar,
the energy cuts through like a whip.
Tall buildings penetrate the atmosphere of aluminum blood,
erections of steel and glass, the people inside creating humanity bombs.
From Elves Chipping Ice
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My rocket always comes around from a sweet, lonely trip to the dark side of the moon to see the light in her ocean eyes back down there on blue marble Earth. There’s always that desire to return to love.
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