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Improvisation XXXIII

If the river rises we'll build your mother a temple where she can make dolls that glow in the dark / whittle teeth from oak & fingers from Mahogany.

When the rains come again we'll be halfway home & weep with the kids who run red in their own blood...for stallions left to rot in fouled stalls.

After the first snow I'll uncoil a length of rope & hang the first man who comes to our house & opens his case & tries to sell the remnants of stars.

When you move to another city I'll bury the dog, crawl under the house & dig for our first song & with a thin heart I'll leave too...

stop on the canyons rim & let loose the doves.

Barcelona Diary
It's Mother's Day
By Dawn's Early Light at 120 Miles Per Hour
The Man With His Back To The Room
Intimacies, Prose. Poems and Stories
Homage to a Widow
It's Only TV
Improvisations - Chapbook
After Goya
Improvisations - From Contemporary Music
Mustering What's Left