Thursday, 12/27

Full moon at rest on a cloud
bank. Umeshu, green plum
floating in wine

Could be a haiku. The evening
is full of animation. Portals,
angels, and John Turturro.

Earlier, stunned by
fly agarics, BIG ONES
wide as frisbees at Pt. Lobos

Rash red, fleshy plates;
One wants to go voyeuring
through the woods to bend

down, peer at their
white spots. But resist
because, rules, you know.

But what about the state
of this and that? Sadness
of another day gone?

Umeshu is in me; and here
I am, reporting it. And that
is that. End of a daily.