Noses Of Roses

“Noses Of Roses”




Teeth of fool’s gold.
Plenty to the load.
A monocle’s prisms.
Part of a dog’s dream.
In heaven’s steam.
Up in the inner space above us.
Smoke from the clouds.
Foul breath’s fumigation.
Afraid of premature minds’ sensation.
Photographed in the press in my imagination.
What a mess.
Like a crazy express gone off track.
Better get back.
To where you belong in a song.
She was as tall as he was long.
Framed in a classical painting by Van Eyck.
To photograph for the New York Times’ patrons.
They must have been drunk.
Dunk in a funk.




By a violet’s dead beat poet-(named Jonathan Billet.)