Food Pantry Thanksgiving Blues

Come be lost with me.
I have a number ten can of beef ravioli,
a case of Vienna sausages,
forty-four jars of peanut butter,
apples and oranges.

I want that paper mache turkey that
travels from set to set on a
TV soap opera show -
first out at Tent City,
then to St. Augustines Student Center,
then to me -
so fine.

I want my grandmother and my Uncle Seth,
transformed by the company of angels,
to come back from the next world,
carrying side dishes of
cranberries, walnuts and greens.

I want my old cat to come home.

I'm thankful for toilets,
running water,
a bed.

The Only Way Out

the leap into Nothingness
for only there
do blueberry frigates drift
through oats and milk

a blue square from a pack of rolling papers

Blue

Square

source of all Art that
ever was or ever will be.

Outside the world of
the electrified frog lying on a slab
in high school biology
(back when apple blossom clouds
drifted through the air)

the legs jump
although it's dead!

Just like me
except Now