Grassland dweller

Sore-footed rain drunkard
under the goblin trees
his sewn left arm wrapped in red mud
the right, groping picnic sack.

He bought gold corns and silver rice
from his neighbor's neighbor.
A moon cent for a sack,
all things said with an undulating viper tongue.

"But you cannot," the neighbor pleaded.
Scythe as yellow as the moon.

Red greed,
all sites red.

When the scythe fell on his shield,
"you cannot," the neighbor pleaded
scythe as yellow as the moon.

Red greed squirted on the paper floor.
A mosaic of blood, he tore from the house
tossed, dried under the dense sky
hidden under the patch of grass.

And for days and days, he walked
aimlessly he walked
'til he reached the goblin tree,
where he farmed under a covey of birds
with his sack of gold corns
and a stitched arm wrapped in red mud.

Ode to the Starfish

Gymnastic star,

leaping with a trail of blaze

that dancing beam in the night

a strayed stud of fire kissing beads of rain

a clump of heat

bulldozing the clouds

into a swift dive!

flickering, flickering

snobbing foggy hills and winding woods

down, passing the asphalt bridge

and the dwarfed houses underneath

the star drowns in the black pool

of whirling whips of waves

a tithe from the sky

like a coin tossed to make wishes come true

even without its twinkle twinkle.