Day-dreaming, Fitfully, of Those Hypnogogic Days…

When Genre Painting Ruthlessly Ruled the Earth
by Cocteau

Mmm.  Sometimes a lute– your red scarf
matches your eyes– is very like an armadillo.
A danger on the stairs, a sybil of love.
A spray can turning a room to pine.

All songs, all passions all delights: Gertrude Eberle

changed the channel, Forrest Tucker,

Farley Granger. Who knows where the road may lead us?

Hardy seed-bearing conifers replaced the swamp trees. Nights were clear:   meat-eaters in red,  plant eaters in green– the moon… a circular yellow.

Leonardo returned to Florence. Kate went over to Lisa & Bill’s.

Deep down  in nearly frozen earth,  life slept in a blanket of dead leaves and deep snow.

The trumpet of prophecy! not at all like an armadillo.

Stairs became stars, chastened a surly channel,
Shook the spray paint into an, an interlude of lute and pine.          And cool clear nights, conducive to dreamy dutch tulips.

Kate left some egg-salad & mashed potatoes in the fridge for me, before  she went back to live among the Amish.

Ola! and some cupcakes too….



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