A Thought

Inside of the hole was a thought.

The thought had rounded corners
and mimicked a pale, sea green.
It had fallen into the hole
out of curiosity. Escape proved
difficult. Many attempts failed:
coiling upside down, folding gingerly,
shrinking perspective.
A light rain hampered efforts.
The thought began to feel put-upon.
But at long last, it emerged.
Now, the thought was a deep, dark red
and some of its edges were sharp,
like teeth. It was hungry
which it had never been before.
It was wary, not only of holes
but of anything unfamiliar.
That made the thought nervous and it acquired a gun.
The rest of the story is what you’d expect.
Bang, bang, you’re dead.
The Madwoman Emerges to Give Advice

Listen close to lickety-split, the green bells, the fossils in the fields, first and last, the moon, a
song, the wolf of forgiveness. Inside my commotion runs a stillness -- how I know. Wither
the pause. Whether or not the angles meet, and a syllable slices a sentence, you’ll not
discover meaning. Don’t skewer the word, the half-word, the swallow. White pine or birch,
straw grass or violets, I wash my hands in the lick of a shadow under jutting stones. Quick,
quick, I tell you, rally your bones. Take the road east lest you be lost to dark rain and rabble.
Tell no one of my weepy eye. Leave me a coin in the hollow tree. Two coins, if you can. I’ll
broaden the luck.