Now should cat stay
Here on this day
Might we not pray
The time has come
For mouse and cat
To mellow some
And end this spat
In the company of worshipers
Some for God
Some for his house
But I think on it
And in the reflect I see
I prefer Love’s House
Which is any house
Where there’s you and me
The prophet, Sullivan, preached
Writing the gospel of
Purpose Informs Art
On landscapes and city streets
Ah, sighs Calatrava
And erects his Mona Lisa smile
Its contrarian pulse
The blood flowing through Valencia’s veins
As form takes flight
With function on its wing
I revel in dreamy whimsy
With purpose in the wake
Chunky frozen snow
Crunches underfoot
Shhhh, hisses the Moon
Be still
Listen
This I do
But all I hear is the Moon
Simmering on the snow peaks
Shhhh, Say I
To the full flood moon
Which does not know chagrin
Ahh, my friend
Replies the Moon
Would you have heard my sizzle
Had you never listened?
As the momentary daylight faded
The mist which was once my Toyota
Settled into the crater
That had been a parking lot
I hoped the owner
Of that formidable weapon
Hadn’t acquired my new position
The concrete barrier I’d sheltered behind
Suddenly seemed feeble protection
Night returned and I got the fuck outta there
“Not one,” said he
With a tone of
Finality
“Well, what then of Blorange?
Which the Welsh named a peak
Then too there’s sporange
A spore sack, so say scientist geeks”
“Ah, so indeed there are rhymes!”
Said he, though shaking his head
“But, what poet would use them?
Such odd freakish terms
I’d be seen as deranged!”
The monumental lines of architecture
Seemed to flex
As a bow drawn by its string
Then paused there
Taught, straining
As if for a steadying breath
The release
Was even more startling
And he felt the shock wave
When the discharged tension
Shook the earth
As the mammoth thing
Quite simply
Leapt from the ground
Untethered as it was
From gravity
It swam lazily
Through the thin atmosphere
Toward a horizon
It would soon enough
Disappear beyond
