Dirty Eyes

I woke up covered all 
In fragments of a dream,
All sticky like the scent of skunks
That sprayed my storybook last night.
—Wash up!  the voices shrieked 
And pushed my head madly beneath
A pool of tears until I drowned 
Again inside another dream.

So tell me whose tears were that soaked 
The leaves I'd flipped through all last night 
With every flutter of lashes so moist.
So speak but make it soft and clean
And hold my hands and smile and joke
And only then describe my nightly scene 
The screens projected on my twitching lids 
The ghastly films my dirty eyes have seen.... 

Inkblots—The Opposite

We are butterfly
Here on edge.
There 
Inside the
Exhaust pipe,

Of blackest '41 Imperial,
We flutter, waxy, inside
The thick carbon
Monoxide.
Xerces Blue,
The scientific
Name of smoked
And fully shriveled

Chitin—blue
With richest splotches of ebon—flush
Against the pavement.  Under tires, we're under
Feet:
We're
Ink-
Blots—
The
Opposite.

At last we've become
Poetry.