WHEN TOMORROW

   by Bates Corlieu

when tomorrow leaps from its bowl
jealous of the night bird’s indigo soar
any little gust of life pushes me
toward the right hand margin
and when its clap on the back windy
the compost tells me the gospel
according to Timothy Leary deary
so that I will follow the earth serpent
into the dark
by the light of my dog’s halo