Thursday, January 1, 2009

Sundin Richards


in the buffet
is unhappy
except me

Outside senses
washed out white
a cat on a branch
in a song

Bringing tranquility
to this troubled pen
insula the Friend
snipers away

Spin spun the door
is blooded so I stay
away it’s not mine

through clouds
that look like clouds
anybody leaves anything
Saint Valentinitus

A Rooster In The Garden

Torqued in the
folds of a city
I’m happy with my
little family

The cat asleep
on the bright
table content as a

Month of Sundays
born lucky
in a silver

All roads are perfect
as long as the cash
holds out we attend
ourselves with errantry

Old ruffians get
new clothes
slower hope than
traffic allows

Here with my smog
and ruin
the bride wakes up

Looting Mary-Celeste

I can’t wait to collapse
into perfection a gold
formulation of sun on
leaves of the New World
known flimflammery
towers with windows
faster than anything
rasp over the power
lines even birds
please let’s remember
the day and the hour
among dirt and diamonds
there’s no seeing where
there is to get to
this thing which is not
a sign
let’s have a three
day Triumph with useless
equipment and flashing
canaries and every notic
able slavery
that was the last place
of dogs and bandits
the long wash rubs out
memory known foreign face
a choir invisible blue stars
on a white field
it’s not rocket surgery
and the risk factor has
never been higher

Hillbilly Dictionary

Here’s the fat
guy hit with a
cannon ball
and the most
information we
can gather is
a chunk of time
saying Roanoke
not mad but be
on a farm or
in a gutter do
we not love Lydia
the tattooed lady
with revolvers and
snowballs among
scrub by a highway
in the middle of the
then you’re looked
at like a villain
hanging around
the steps of a music
school in this way
all that can be said
with a straight face
is oops

The Ruination Of My Right Arm

take for
ever slim
in the tin
and thanks
for the per
fectos ol’
doc they
helped alot
but you knew
that from
the splint
where’s the
sound for
which we
wandered any
way to continue
it’s good to
see folks run
ning down the
center of a
street for once
because of the
elements but that’s
just a guess and
is that some kind
of boat over there

-all poems previously published at Cricket Online Review

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