the city is not natural…
I cannot find closure within it…
in here nature feels…ill fit…
my tail does not wag the same
swagger comes with shame
there is sewage beneath my feet
all envisioned voices are in full retreat
isolation…well dressed, more refined
there is a growing sense of being ambushed by steel
to lay outside the box…it appears easier to define
abandoned garage over on River road.
In a left alone box…I keep the sacred thoughts.
In an upholstered chair from 1972, all velour and static, covered in snow.
That is where make-believe takes a seat.
It is where poetry goes.
Around about, midday, most days, when the sun quenches the sky.
I take time out to visit a graveyard Sage made of stone and bone.
To amend the playful wrongs…make them…right.
Everyday…a fortunate spirit on an infinite flight.
The dogs are forever taking a route I don’t want them to. Wind blown, caustic and harsh on the skin…basic, barren stretches of land.
Yet, in moments with grace, I think ‘who is the biggest fool?‘ After all, they aren’t hurting anyone…Doing what they want to do.’
Stretching thoughts over chapped skin…I…
‘Applaud the infidel trudging about in two feet of crusted snow. The ancient one frolicking about when it is 20 below…
Applaud the, dog-eared, dissident, with the heart to go…Where others dare not go!’
Trailer, camper, life on the run.
I envision you settled in the sides of a granite mountain.
I grab her when she is warm and light.
Lay my frazzled mind in the crook of her loving arms.
A quilt of many colors.
The pastels gather my worries up.
And, an unspoken promise to keep me from harm.
Stone pillars may hold back time.
Unpleasant reminders that the elements are unkind.
Only a minutes delay…
Between rain and shine.
North of the Notch.
The arctic air rolls in less promising fashion.
And, is offten unkind.
Only small passages between the bold and blustery…
Buries this fact in my mind.