Monster reading

An abstraction
dwells beneath
a mathematical fraction…3/4 of what,you never
knew before.

botany
interests me-remotely vaguely.
An artist bums blankets
sitting on his bicycle
in the snow.

Monster reading,
compulsive, obsessive,reading
used as an escape
from the everything of
Life which haunts you.

Monster Reading,
among velvet teardrops-
a pervert puzzle which rules
Hope.

Hope nurses doggie flowers,
into a pot of surrealistic flowers,
the room begins to spin,
lightly as you monitor,

where have I been?

puzzle purple stars
strung out above the snow;
there’s no-place to go.
Yet, off in the distance

a siren
songs
a love song,
about Spring.

the seasons will eventually change,
from cold and dreary,
to warm and muddy
An artist curls up onto a corner,
on display, wearing blankets
of gold and grey.

performance and street art,
carefully disguised
as homeless-insanity
but you never
can tell these days.

a cardboard sign reads
will work for food,
yet your car is sure to drive
on past.

Monster reading
among velvet teardrops,
a blackened page,
empty except for the story,

one day you will write it
all down the everything
the artist and his sign
the weather and it’s crazy cold crime,

the truth, the lies, the nitty-gritty,
the everything in between
you will take you favorite writing tool,
a pencil or a pen or a crayon

and you will start to write,
a perfect amazing story,
starting with the end,
moving backwards to fill in facts.

You will start with your last sentence,
which will go like this,
“Nobody knew, how very deeply loved he was till he was gone.
Washed up on the shore like an empty wine bottle. There was no
message left inside instead there was….”

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