I have a tidy mind:

sunflowers balanced on ballet,
basins baking crinkled architects - fingerprints
of chrome yellow.

I have a tidy mind:

corn fields rusted on the scratch of bees,
or eye of child with pointing questioned
trowels of sun yolk.

I have a tidy mind:

abandoned, I have to work
with three walls yellow, and the fourth me -
unravelling canvases

on the outside with fever.