who is that masked man?
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by Terry Brinkman





Aloft coarsely unbridled Dressing-gown

My Face Mask Sleepy Whale Hellenic ring on the rocks lay like a rag

She wakes as cock-crow clambers out of her Sleeping-bag

Malaise snot-green conversance truck is again broken down

Gaucho distance journey in Devil’s Snow until she was found

She crept, she slid, she hurtled as she always brags

Human shells crucified skirts, her only swag

Sabastian and she went to cat around in town

Candle stick in wine bottle, ghost light soft

They gamble a traverse to cross, the cross-walk at night

Smelling Pittsburgh perfume not so sweet aloft

Precipitating Euclid Ave gait antecedents Java delight

Fragrance reminds her of her Pinon Pine loft

The maze of dark turning alabaster white




a line, (a short blue one)



Social Distance


 The sun was nearing the steeple of the Newman Center

 As I sit Crossed legged on the snow covered waiting bench

My Face Mask pulled below my chin.

Smoking on a Coiled Pipe waiting for

Social distance to end.




a line, (a short blue one)



Horses Nostrils


Draws her shall across the horses nostrils

Tickles his wrinkled face and filters the dark air

Spits from articulate lips not so clear

His jet of venom falling on the sage trail

Walking distance at only a faithful pace

She wears hair-to-neck-hat

Horse rain sprat on her, made her cry

High-lander square-pushers sell air masks

Two fellows, follow her get and get lost in the smog

Stubborn as mules now they push up Daises

Look behind COVID gesture, universal language



a line, (a blue one)


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