The Highest Hiding Place: August 2008

Monday, August 25, 2008

Squeal when you leap.
Sigh when you fall.
Laugh out loud
when you don't hit the ground
one more time now.

Fall from the sky
like the rain.

I begin selling my books at llacambra.multiply.com

Crane your neck
like a line of mother-cats
calling their hundred kittens.

Sleep with a stranger
under a blanket of snow.

Walk around
in a city of white cars

Wake
without waking up.

The rain's like
despair that comes
from a sadness that's less
been stripped of its joy
than it is unsure of
what will make it happy.