jet-snatched and time-zapped
at Talia's Tuscan Table,
tracing the devil on a map,
while Natalie the gal in the photograph above
traces on my back - Brautigan is God -
and I am the least reliable deity in existence.
Cookies for rookies,
to Leonard with love
from Aunt Minnie, 1915,
beneath the underdog
is visions.
Something out of the corner of my eye,
a honey-tongued lantern,
pointing me toward my coyote castle,
with me refusing to believe,
dumping my guts on teasing time
but being reminded that there
is a second life out there if...