62814

here
we have
guilt
waiting
in a most
comfortable
chair
grin disappearing
a slow moving
product of memorizing
a growing list
of annoyances

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

62214

this train
doesn’t run
through the night
it pulls
it through
the day

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

62114

it is nearly impossible
to mask curiosity
as you stare
at flotsam
swirling in an eddy

waiting,
mouth slack as a
wine drunk,
for
clues of identity
to rise

from colliding remnants

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

62014

I’ve got those
dreams all
ready to send
but my mind
didn’t leave
a forwarding address

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

petals, satin and glass

it will be
beautiful
when you
finally refuse
to spin plates
anymore
you
radiant
counting the
number of
breaths it takes
for them to fall
and shatter
upon that gilded stage
you
illuminen
with
arms spread
to accept
bouquets
rocketed toward
your rebellion you
in that moment
of revelation
creating
in immaculate dervish
a masterpiece
of
petals, satin and glass

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

61614

curative is
ecstasy of disorientation
looking
around corners
with last years
eyes

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

61214

not without chair
as crates consume
rest waits however
in emptying rooms

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

the get away

he had
the stride of a boy
who may have
just moments before
pilfered a bolt of
lightning from
the arsenal of Zeus

heading for the pond
I assumed
to lay waste to a frog
or two

he kept
checking his pocket
as if the thing
would suddenly wriggle out

and fly back
up the mountain
to report
thievery and deceit

looking over his shoulder
he caught my eye
stopping
as I pointed
the rake handle at him

they are on to you
boy
you best
step lively

he gave
a perfect
rendition of
a smile I myself
had mastered once
then he was off

rounding the corner
just as the baffled god
stepped out on the porch
to scan the horizon

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead

60814

the nebulous anatomy of a dish or volume of spoon determines direction of a meal with deference to the attitude of nomadic fires

(c) 2014

60714

magic
endless chain
of handkerchiefs
materializing from
a mothers sleeve

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead