In A Balloon Over The Sea

I keep a womb fist

Of tulips, here

In my basket over the sea.

Everyone wants a tulip

From my wood

So I hand them round,

Cult candy,

Because the earth is far below.


My friends drive cars

Like whales across

Shining sea-roads

Speckled with shipwrecks

And rain

Sheets of water are

Wedding corsets

Draped over

Green room chairs

We raise them diagonally

To our sky.


There are ghosts on the road

And a white web

Coughs from the wipers

Like photograph plasm.

They cross behind us

In the blood-glare of our brakes

Where the moor man

Stands directly directing


The dissidents spewing

From a Chinese cellar.

◄ New Blog Time! Two New Ones

The Bear In The Waistcoat Has Lost His Balloon ►


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