Nightmare Honey

You’ve been drinking

McCormick black pepper

at midnight again haven’t you?

There is no left

or wrong –

a bunny by the vandals.

Hands in your lungs:

most beautiful tart

killed her.

The silence juxtaposed

cicada swamp growling

November 66, 1998.

And want says to reach out

but my ear has a pulse

and drank. Too many

left turns towards

murky autumns are springing

over white crested cliffs.

Some are her and some are summer;

you don't win or win her

when winter is winning her over.

Maybe spring me summer

or fall into spring.

Win some of her winters

or win summer winters;

some are stars summer stars.

The sum of her stars stirring starlight.

Look back and lose another.