questions between a daydream
sweet cream icicles
dashed blue-green cries
post mortem could not be
turn down hot streams
as the marketplace withdraws quietly --
will they shoot tomorrow at dusk?
one never knows
dashed-up dreams and a pass
out of hell
you drivel on at the turnstile
tell me now before my tourniquet
when will the lamb stop bleating?
off to the side
the one-eyed man glides
his kingdom lost at nightfall
and the steel-edged flute
plays a tune far off
while the minister sends his regards
can one ever be sure of presence?
not if the bed is turned down
can one ever know transcendence?
not if the bullet remains unsold