Evidently,
it is not the great bow…
that puts the ox to sleep.
It is the folly of the age.
Natural Thoughts: 1
Plain White…Me
Divided by color?
One forest dissected by all that is man-made.
What other distortions shall come our way?
Never raised in black or white.
With gay or straight.
A city of privilege.
Lay at my heathen’s feet.
All around,
Lennon on vinyl.
Plath,
torn and worn.
Lay heavily,
like a Bell Jar.
In the back pocket of my tough-skins.
Images of jesus,
four point restrained…ghastly, lastly,
they say,
he began…again.
One could tell,
I didn’t know better.
Know better to hate.
Never a care given…
to who had been on the other side of a handshake.
With years of me…in my wake.
When a stranger’s hand has reached out for help…
it still remains a hand that I should take.
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Gray Matters
Parallel souls surface.
Tepid, rusty oven doors…critical, tired and old.
Again, the scattering of orphans…nothing but out dated candy for the eye.
Disfigured misfits falling from the austere sky.
Harvested crusted cuticles,
just surrogates from the wrong side of the tracks.
There is a sisterhood to what lies beyond the facts.
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Prolific Down at the Falls
Black and white images stream across yesterday…at today’s falls.
Profiles of cremated plots of Jiffy Pop.
And, with a splash, ‘not now’.
All in an instant, all in the wordy watered down words.
Thus, I ponder, why are these memories your’s to take?
Like a broken toilet handle…refusing to flush.
There is nothing like the taste of being…sour.
On this, the half past hour.
∞
An, ‘I see you…’ on random country stores.
Black and white transformed into the derelict poor.
∞
Prolific Falls…where do we go.
Prolific Falls, meant to be searched when solo.
∞
When I had been young,
I learned to swim with a push.
When I had been young,
I learned to drive in a jam.
∞
Sink and swim and hold on tight.
Tart and tangy memories in black and white.
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the more WE take
Who would want to be you
Even for a moment or two
Would it be significant
Would you really matter
Would the other you…
walk away faster…
fatter…
What of me and you
and,
these other shoes.
Just for a day
Each of us walking…
in different ways.
What of the difference between you and me
All these other one of us
Stepping down into moral decay
Stepping out to…
I like things the other way.
What if you were me for a day
Never mind, the question…
The more we take, the less we become The fortune of one that means less for some… -S.McLachlan straight people don’t want to play that way.
