The Blog

              After growing up I grew an ear
              for that note of sadness hidden in laughter.

                            We assume all sorrow is redacted there.
                            We trust the mouth as a medium

              but often the louvers of anguish
       don’t make a good seal, causing the laughter

You touch my lips more than my old wife,
but how could I love you? With a red-handle knife
from the shed my Honey painted teal,
should I slice open God,
the natural fabric felt as zephyrs and grass mites,
and kneeling next to my toolbox with the loose latch,
rewire the laws binding Venus and the Higgs boson,