The Crab Traps

much like Nash he was batshit, they said
I would propose he's like Napier, divine
they threw Georg in a nuthouse until he was dead
while John was a Lord with an aura of dread
the judgment of masses is ultimate, you'll find
and infinities seem torments to earthbound minds



there's more grullas than ever it seems,
and the vultures are recovering
arroyos all dry and the Rio is low the snowpack ain't come in years
not since I've been here...
but the crows are plentiful because of pecans
and there go some ducks on the wing



trauma doesn't define me
it redesigned my everyday
I am not strictly heterosexual
nor do I care what others say
about my life terrestrial
or mistakes which I have made
I will never be an octopus
but I can swim and I can play



disengaging feels so nice
opinions sometimes cost too much
willing always to pay that price
sometimes however a softer touch
can melt rather than break the ice
to rant and rave can be a rush
but listening is paradise



because I am compelled to by my Muse.
when I am overtaken inundated by the news
more guns and violence and little birth
they don't celebrate the life on earth
so she makes me write them down
I think her songs are, pound for pound
pretty playful and puissant poems



write a song about a circle
eight time eight is sixty four
or an orby octopus purple
that's a load of tentacles or
floating like a puffball's spores
an armada of Portuguese man o' wars
caught in thin silver webs of light
hovering over the forest floor
cast by Moon, the Queen of Night
what's the rush, what'd they leave for?
must be time for bed, all right