Still  and  night  wind/

And still standing in/ Deep in the shadow end/

Waiting in the wading pool To see my moon bounce to me some/


Wait!  At the airport bar the atmosphere swooned bountiful/

Maybe sating   metaphoring mating whoring fourth down plays/

Bountifully Enhanced  Last Chancing that face it,  basicly it’s too late not to dare/

Back here I’m not so rough, I swoon my own way, I tarry, and my moon’s enough

Jared French, Clinton, by PaJaMa

(photo credit/Jared French/ Clinton)


.mangata: reflection of the moon on the sea at night (Swedish)





September 18, 2015

I swear  it’s Clara

I see clearly on the ceiling

Before I embark onto

Darkening  streams

To  a dream where Clara is nearer


I splash up, plop a step up,

&  Stand up on her shore

&  Stretch erect  on her far shore.


July 28, 2015

One apple, one all too ready for it’s own  fall,

Rolled  towards  him.


Looking up from his hands, all

His distresses, in this Rousseau Tableau of his;

Big leaves, big cats, his own lions;

Lively  definitive  lines,

Staged amidst his hazy distress.

Staged front and neat, his sweet fruit…

His  way for his fall






.                                         (2009 & now)

There’s a face  in a film,

Her face in a crowd

Offsets all in wrecked angles

Enough to stun me  out loud.


And lord, the line or two you are afforded

Naturally won’t match words under,

Your subtitles won’t ride well  just under

The sexy subtexts,  In your countenance.


Her hard words, Her straight stare;

She’s Eastern European—-Somewhere.

I can take & warmweather that stare,.

If she were here she’d share that stare.

If we were us,   we’d share our  sure and nervous  west/east stare.