Underpass drowned

in moonlight

the tunnel

allows the wood

and ghost of

a young girl

her expression

so vanished

carries us
Cosmos in

the joining

of three tiles

an angel

touches

her breasts

sharp stylus

left alone

two ballroom

Ladies

crosshairs

at each

of their hearts
Older Zuni

woman

hair tied

back in a bun

shoulders tight

and high

and never to turn

the hyper blonde

child is twisted

caught

looking back
Family

pictures dead

queens

white flares at

the top

in points on

black

a stark winter

tree

smiling skeletons

light drawn in

at their temples
The spider

was

a loosely

constructed

coral choker

the legs went

on forever

cut in two

hairs one

up and

one down
Lisbon first

night and

early morning

“Is it ok

for you to

play alone

barely

hidden from

the street? It’s

ok we

pull the furniture

outside here

to sit.”
Smear

of dried

flowers school

pictures the

stems on

the roses and

spattered

paper left at

the desk

a mind haunted

by its screen
Two brothers

guard a sleeping

child smaller

his spirit swiped

down mother bent

to kiss him

the second frame

all the same

rushed in

wallpaper

and posters tacked

under wet paint
Crowded underworld

some are in

pure unaggravated

sleep

men fully dressed

head thrown back

seated

hands folded
You could

see her

ripped from

his side

at the cold

bus station

a broad

single slash

in the screen

gone forever
A polish

woman scarf

tied at the

chin steel

eyes carrying

alchemical

pipe pointed

heavier

at one end

her kneeling

sister with basket

beside her

sticks slipping from

the pile legs

fogged at the

knee and torn
A reclining

boy model

an old

Victorian

smears

to move

the lawn down

into the sky
Roses playing

telephone the

bodice wants up

and in along

the bottom

more of a designer

than poet or

painter moviemaker

the strain

behind the image

starts over