by Brian McCloskey
Hitler also told him Paul Newman was a space alien who had been born in a cave on the moon. Black and white, limbs you loved to draw. Red windows, shut your red mouths. Across the street, the normal pigeons eat. If it's cold enough to wear tights then you shouldn't be exposing your toes! The wife's gone off to Victoria to elect a new bishop for Vancouver Island. Because you’re on a smaller point, you have to stack your bones. So sad I hadn't any nut. Instead they glide on and sit nicely over the skin. There's a cure for that now. She turns the water on and slowly soaks all her outfit. And then there's my heart—it belongs to you. To feel you untie the knotted throat. And yachts have come out to climb on the sea's face. I actually bought two of the sheep. It means that you never know which tights you will get! An alphabet made of trees. What can it Nature to be a woman! But we write our poems when the sun goes down. The tree the omega point of a labyrinth. We met too late. That’s why we ask about pantyhose. The first time I put them on, my legs felt instantly cooled. Every time I stepped out of my apartment someone stopped me to ask if these were tights. Don’t be afraid to have some fun with your legwear. Tights have improved so much through the years. And the birds go on mocking what Ovid makes of them. Green lights everywhere, seen, if not understood. (bee queen of my dream). Good silence swaddled soon in the robin's weird devotion. Each day I wait for the blue to vanish.