"I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee..."
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BLUE at the TABLE in the HOT SUN
            
            give him a shot of light,
            give him ragged glass
            to escape thru,
            black cat blues dogging
            the bed
            
            He, ok, it's you, hell bound,
            in a hurry. You're pulling blue
            out of the strings. Mama's got
            
            a brand new. It's the table
            in the light. Cat on the chair
            with night scratching
            
            Wind rattles the panes,
            rattles gone love thru your
            spine. Your baby's
            changed the lock on the door
            
            If you're still singing,
            earth fills your lips


copright LYN LIFSHIN
"Poetry endangers the established order in the soul."
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BLUE, PAST the MIDDLE of the MONTH
            
            Polar areas are turning
            into rain forests
            
            the wind's died down,
            ice moves in
            
            word salads in
            the first 3 magazines
            
            I skim, the
            leaves wilting.
            
            On an old list:
            "recovery clothes," 



copyright LYN LIFSHIN
"Repair Your Mind...Read More Poetry!"
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	HAVEN'T YOU SOMETIMES JUST WALKED
	
	fog that makes even the
	houses across the street
	invisible? You want the
	day to blur like slinking
	back under a quilt. Haven't
	you wanted the world to 
	go away? It's not enough
	tangerine blossoms perfume
	the house. You want no
	outlines, nothing sure 
	except how nothing is.
	Aren't there days wild
	sun is just depressing?
	It's what an ex-con said
	about life in Big Sur, a dark
	storm was luxury. In the
	fog, what's stained or 
	lined or old is muted like
	an out of focus print, 
	like any pentimento it lets
	what was almost surface


copyright LYN LIFSHIN
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