Folio

Why Must My Creen Chair

Gary H. Howard

Why must my green chair

Tilt always to the right

Across a white plain

Why must there be

Books that one tries

Vainly to put back in place

Why should the sun

Spooned suddenly

Into a saucer

Stop abruptly

In the middle of my eye

I would like to forget

That once I knew

All these

And the source of all images

Developed in my dark room

Tomorrow we will go abroad

We will cast aside

The past that is holding us back

Tonight I remembered why I drank

From a frosted green glass

And why I found myself

Clinging to the light

I thought I had replaced