Horse Latitudes
by James Douglas MorrisonWhen the still sea conspires an armor
And her sullen and aborted
Currents breed tiny monsters,
True sailing is dead
Awkward instant
And the first animal is jettisoned,
Legs furiously pumping
Their stiff green gallop,
And heads bob up
Poise
Delicate
Pause
Consent
In mute nostril agony
Carefully refined
And sealed over.
THE DARK AMERICAN SUNSET
The dark American SunsetThe night like a vast
conspiracy to dream,
hold court in the swaying sand
Tijuana,
the anus of Night
a cartoon of civilization
Whores are bores in the
American Night
What will we see in the
bowels of the night,
in the frosted cave where dreams
are made, right before your eyes.
Prophecy without money.
WE AWOKE, TALKING...
We awoke, talking, Telling dreamsan explosion during the night
A new siren.
Not cop, fire, New York ambulance
or European movie riot news,
but the strange
siren prediction war.
She ran to the window.
The yellow thing had risen.
Jim's Published Work
