Rain And, After the rain, Our umbrella Becomes a cane, And, "Whatever will become of us?" Becomes "...became."Fly Where, and when, and if, I die I desire to revisit this filth As a fly and on some squalid afternoon Fly smack into your bathroom, Small and black, And crawl all over Your naked young back. I know you imagine I'm a sensitive man, But I'm afraid that's just The kind of fly I am.Another Night We talked all evening about the end of the world Until it was the
end of the evening, And freezing outside And we agreed It had nothing to do with us. The bus
arrived and we said good, and bye, and tried to hug in direct correlation To the total of our
affection to date. It was very late, Or very early, When I put my key in the door. And I sat in my
bed And looked for lumps on my skin. And thinking about the end of the world, I waited for the
world to begin.Descent He'd been let down so often
His brow was on the floor
But then they found
A small hole in the ground
And let him down some more.
Love Poem
Er....
Yes....
The moon was booked to appear in this poem,
But due to stress
and overwork,
Countless appearances in sonnets and haiku,
It's going to be difficult to express how much
I like you.
It's been holding it's breath
And turning blue,
Once in a while.
Smiling for children,
Styling the tide.
Inspiring sex,
And suicide.
A backlog of allusions to deal with.
Feelings to justify.
It's done very well for a lump of white rock,
With a peak time slot in the night sky,
Sharing top billing with it's straight man, the sun, The best double act
in kingdom not come.
Mystified and delighted
With the interest shown
By painters
And writers
And people alone.
But at the last minute NASA phoned
And bumped up th
e residuals,
So your poem's been postponed.
I'm sorry.
