Salad, No Dressing

From vials of paint
he dipped and then
with sabled licks
applied to me

green of romaine
white of onion
red of radish
orange of carrot
purple of sage

to make a feast
from garden's eye.

Naturally, we
tossed ourselves
in bed.

Glenn Osborn

Fill In The Blanks

God said, I'm open to suggestions,
and then the dog yawned
or turned belly-up
for a scratch
or wagged tail
just to hear a voice
or just to be in love with
the idea of a romp in the park.

Smashed

Crystal sings in a pure voice
when rung empty, muted
when full. Ting, it says,
long and high. Empty you,
fill me with blood red wine.

Pour, yes, and spatter
the floor, no matter
the season. Wings —
give me, give me —
a reason to fly

into the brick inferno
you would dash me on,
celebrating what?

The wall?

Counting By Threes

standing by
you and you
standing by
yourself then
standing yet
by me, too

The Kindness of Crowds