The Steering Wheel

Each blind pinion
in the floor suggests
a warped cutter, or a

fractious shoal bent
on a forbidden example.
But say, now, no further

maculicolous departures
shall be granted. For
one must connect to being

sometimes the loneliest
perambulator on this planet.
And an eye for the sightless

and sore.

Near Sligo

Even with its landscapes
fully unresplendent,
no one apoplexes

at my party. Except
for an elderly woman
depositing receipts.

Her assets tied
to my cargo. And
smartly imparted.

So Berber, so tweed.

The Widening of Gordon's Creek

The snow here
is chronic. And
stalking is generally

lost in the bulk of
these icy modules.
Their fallings so huge

and outlandish that
you tumble down
among the branches.

Cowering. Stinging.
Burning the frieze
off your once-deft

body. But now you
call out for something
entirely different.

Another brush with
the given dread in this,
your implausible

dying.