Homapologist

Life under the roof
Is life too deep in the groove,
Too hefty, oleaginous
To rise for poesy or paradise.

Fatal Eyes

Some antique gallant poet said

Eyes’re hemispheres

But didn’t see the nictating dark

Lagoons ride me round the sphere

Where we can hide if you like

And sleep like a pair

of children without fear.

Eyelids slide up and down

As though drapery sleepily rises and falls

And shutters up the interior

Of a complex thought.

Eyelids part like cracking pods

That nudge my heart

To blossom in the hopeless sod.