From an undream page (though you won't believe that) of Chris Wayan's journal, late 1998
Beep beep beep beep.|
I look out my bay window.
A man and a tree are walking down
my hill, side by side:
he near the curb,
the tree (his height, but thinner)
riding in the bed of
a beeping little truck.
The man, in fluorescent orange,
sprays water in a high arc
onto my sidewalk
messy as porn-flick come,
while the tree glides
down my street
Aren't we just as lost?
Someday saplings will
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