TOO MUCH COFFEE

Extinguish

God is a cold wind:
brushes roots of an oak tree,
blows dust around cows' feet,
coats dung splattered calluses,
sweeps sawdust into wet pits
where mud builds civilizations.

Migraine

I can feel my headache leaving;
like a dragon
whose scales drop off
one by one, replaced
by fur, and comes and gently but deliberately
kneading my lap with its
claws.

Clouds

fish-ribbed,
croissant layered

muscular brown,
sandy glue

gone

MEGABLOCKS

remember

the smell of rotting

jacaranda blossoms

waves