the blinds of my mind…lilt
a storied plot of disconnect and bad vertical holds fresh with scant static
I interviewed, repeatedly…the main character on merits
on fishbowl houses
smiling goldfish with one shoe
I keep coming back to these indoor graveyards
scrutinizing testimonials from dead poets
at graffiti’s basement of cheap thrills
stirring up banshee’s with last centuries news
I have lit this vigilant firecracker so often just to watch it explode
would have taken a powder by now
but this actor, this skinny cow reminds me
overturned stones eventually turn cold
I will come back at least three times more
first, with a left hand cane to pry open all the good that remains
second, with a stronger back to carry a weighty blind frog
third, with Wonder Woman’s eraser to remove my name
Dark the wood aching for sun
So many conversations we have had
Derelicts of the times, both good and bad
You and I, cloaked in a nasty game of hide and seek
In this, warring courtyard, curves and cushions of fodder
In this, crumbled down streets, forks and flexure and fixtures
I bend to breathe
Hollow becomes my rasp
Sharp is my bath water
Obstructed is my throat…
I quarrel with the words I say
Naked and ravenous, I take to the sodden road
drained of your city ways
Wild-berry safer by itself.
Poison Ivy always meant to tease.
Misconstrued dam…wanton on the knee.
The natural order of things…easier to believe.
My overdone education has not hurt me none…
I can read the writing on the wall.
Walls move…and, minds do to.
Mother Nature, for certain, cannot be sued.
Sumac tree with tainted leaf.
Please heed the call…
I am lonesome for you after all.
Beyond the dirty snow. The deep bleak array of brown on tan. Deep in the thick of it. There can be complete
un-attachment. Course, that is a late winter’s day in rural New Hampshire.
The fine art of living is a series of holding on and letting go.
A full pocket is not worth the price of an empty soul.
“Anyone can find the switch after the lights are on.” ― Confucius
Anyone can tell us that we must take life seriously. But there is no proof whatsoever that it must be that way.
We must be our own before we can be another’s, -R.W.Emerson
It is cowardly to go through life being the only one who know’s you are afraid.
Anyway the wind blows…therein begins the lie and the truth.
Look into any eyes
you find by you, you can see
clear through to another day
I know it’s been seen before
through other eyes on other days
The cat lady?
Someone who will, whatever the journey, death and possible threat to human life, gets up from a dying position…to fondle a cat.