Dialogue #9

The laws of figures bend fatuous lines
crawling down highways to a crash with history.
From ardent insomnia through slow arrogance
Foggy boldness farms embarassment.

I don't care.
I sit alongside the foggy highway
where wineberries ripen and fall among columbine.

Red lights swept the swans along.
Pines won't mention why the pigeon mourns.
You may be strong-armed away to a street with walls,
shot in derision, unshaded, unwreathed.

(italicized stanza by Moira Scheuring)
circa 1990