Little Sea.

Little sea, you are red and full of light-
Little sea, you glow from Beijing, China,
Your hand is atop your head. Fixated on the
Chandelier in the living room, you glare at me instead.
Little sea, you rest on walls in pictures. You are here;
You are gone. Oh ancient heart, o still mind,
We walk here and come to Chinatown. In Illinois,
We are shy of movie posters; we are fond of people
Saying things. Back and forth, we grumble; we howl
Gruesome words atop our lungs. An author admires
A lowly writer. I walk down the street, swinging grocery
Bags, hum to myself. A famous actor dies in the streets of
Chicago; a wounded warrior bears the tattoo of a bartender
On his chest, not knowing why he has it-knowing he has
No direct age. The thoughts are of the flesh. The thoughts
Are rotten still. Stiller than a photograph, he breathes life
Into it-
Sadness permeates him, he is not aware.

First Names.

She wasn’t dreaming partial dreams.
Red leaves
Fell,
Glimmering,
Over a red valley.

Why?! The snow sticks
To the ground.

Stick people crowd
Downtown
Mardi Gras parades.
Faded jeans.

Blast through
Midnight air
Stare
Gently they go down
Gently they go sleeping.

Gently.
Fish swim.

Mourning doves flock to
Old church ceilings-
Why,
O cry me out of Jordan,
Cry me rivers,
Rushing waters, cold.
Sentences are proverbs-

John.