once upon a tomorrow
an astronaut leaves for a planet
where radios
like wildflowers bloom. (he smuggles a paintbrush
inside his head,
remembering things
forgotten on earth.)
destination reached:
he paints the impossible brightly & boldly
making a ruckus of random numbers (reconfiguring
into rainbows)
holding lustful lilacs
purply touching october's peace: like a prayer
penetrating a monastery's cobwebs or a sunbeam
blinding an android's
eyes.

I never know what to say about my writing, but I'll try: I think that all art is experimental, that the writer with a pen in her or his hand is basically out in a thunderstorm, flying a kite with a key attached to the end of the string.