Cup Hooks · A Letter... · Unusual Quilts

He was an unlettered genius.
A literati of the forest.
Marching with ants
toward sugar cubes.
Collecting pine cones
with wind in his hands.
Unusual quilts
of holey jeans,
Sam's spam was truth
like fingers stuck
in a peanut butter jar,
where licking seemed
appropriate.

His body, a tapestry
of ancient tattoos--
his mind a composite
of broken cliches
dressing for dinner
in nice taboos.
He liked skunks
and mosquito bites
for traces they left--
reminders and footprints
on human frames.
The crux of an answer
was always tied
to molecular structures
of clean dispute.

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