Car Ride
the telephone wires droop and
rise
like blank bars of
music
only ending when I turn
away
but we keep on
going
in the style of William Carlos Williams
Sunday
alone in my house
outside stands a tree
its happy and free
he built me a birdhouse
from a hole crawls a mouse
through windows I see
cat chasing a bee
I go to the bathhouse
starting to undress
I turn and he's there
I can't even scream
its my neck, his caress
he sniffs at my hair
I wake from my dream
A feeble attempt at an Italian Sonnet
A Dream
Standing in a crowded room
everyone is dressed in brown
its snowing outside
but still sunny
there is tension in the crowd
they all turn
and start moving towards me
in the style of Wallace Stevens