January 24, 1973. I wrote this in San Francisco, when I must have been longing for a new season:  So what’s new?


The sun shines off happy tummies,     Lying motionless in the field     Like the empty watermelon hulls.

Deep in the scene of viny crime     Rest sticky fingers,      And far-off smiles,

While off near the edge of the field,     A fence chases its tail,    And looks the other way.


This spider’s poetry puts mine to shame. It appeared on the rear view mirror of my pickup one night.


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