Untitled On Notepaper

the brown leaves blew from the doorway,
into a bowl,
and the green carpeted walls
of the elevator
they crept upon,
like small, baby
trespassing corn flakes
infiltrating a new box.

A continental breakfast
reservation for autumn.

Dream of dull lights flickering on a train,
a greeting card with a candle flame,
and for some reason – Orson Welles.

Morning or noon.
After missing an appointment with a duelling cowboy,
who is left to wonder and cast his shadow
to reach a cactus on a windowsill,

his hat, neither white nor black,
his blank-faced watch on his wrist.

Bunny rabbits looking through
glass panels of the ground floor foyer.

Someone said “you need a Twin”
I could get used to this luxury, and do.

After an exhausting swim,
dream about swimming in milk.

3 thoughts on “Untitled On Notepaper

  1. I want to wade in custard. This is a wonderful walk through up and down high rise dreams. I like the cactus especially. I like the comma, before baby… it is perfect.
    I wish you’d write more. Everyday! But then it makes each gem more precious I suppose.

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