Tuesday, October 07, 2008



O inflatable house everything bounces
when Santa lands on the roof
but we can accommodate anything
in the spare room
an alphabet of almost forgotten sounds
wetnosed deer, electrocution lessons
dark roads which are what has happened to night
mouthless, hissing, leading we don’t know where
the signs say something, you know what I mean
but the front of real life has improper kerning
a gramma nibbled by some sort of prescience
so-and-so’s beautiful jewel veined between the sofa cushions
we are living in a golden age
and are all closely related
I promise to work harder with bacteria
to talk more earnestly
father, you are my father
a garden hose in the moonlight
there are no baboons here because
no baboons were required
they’d be like Hermes
extant if we needed them
I have no favourite flavour
trainwhistle, beanpod, moodring
a treehouse ageing as trees reach toward
future destinations
my feet like worlds are never too big because
they are my feet


troylloyd said...

gramma nibbler moodring
" electrified "

the ampersand embrace pure perfect perfection & i see them onna lake, reflect'd w/ a tiny tadpole off to be a frog.

great piece.

mike di tomasso said...

great stuff

quite shocking!(sorry pad bun)

gary barwin said...

Mike, thanks for the volt of confidence! It was nice to follow your comment on to your great blog.

And Troy, see the next tadpost re