Don't Your Arms Get Tired ?"........................................................... Row, row, row your poem/ gently down the page,/ wearily, wearily, wearily, wearily,/ strife is but a stage...// Row, row, row your bones/ gently down the street,/ barely, barely, barely, barely,/ old body's hard to beat...// Row, row, row your mind,/ gently down the drain,/ rarely, rarely, rarely, rarely/ find comfort in the brain...// Row, row, row your soul/ gently down the hill,/ Rarely wearily, barely scarcely,/ fairy dust over-spills...//. .................................................................................. Comes the Breath of Life With the Call of Death.......... By the boardwalk of waking dreams I seem to sleep/ beneath the tree of death, and yet the last breath of life/ calls me out to shout about myself, get out of bed,/ peak at Plato's sunlight, loosen the Lord's umbilical cord— / ready to come out kicking, the way I painfully came in. ............................................................................. When I Turn Around He Slaps My Face................ A chipper whipping wind wanted a friend,/ a walking companion down the block today,/ he had my back all the way to the end,/ but when I turned around he slapped my face.// I sit in my room and watch him blow his horn,/ and last leaves left — fall dancing to his tune,/ they’re gold is spent, they're hold gone airborne,/ They alight on earth as light as a cloudy moon.// Inside I watch oak leaves race up the street/ then stop the chase, embrace a whirling swirling/ carried away, wind’s friend to feel earth-free/ as I’ll fly free when I’m finally unworlding.// I went for another walk in the freezing breeze,/ decided this friendship won’t always please./