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Cheers!
Wine makes men merry
We eat but never are full
The sun sets again
The longer the jump
The longer the spree
The longer the absence will be
Squirrels seem to stage
Acrobatic musicals
While harvesting
Walking across pine
Mouth wet with juice of oranges
Eyes shaded by brim
My thoughts overlap like shingles
over hidden emotion. Wedges of cedar
take the shape of a young man, content
but I walk along a wounded path
I have made a companion of my pipe
although some would not see it, I pray
Now the needles of the pines are hiding
the stars, and I see only two
or three. One that was a star has moved
carrying it’s passengers home, maybe
is has, at least, taken my mind from its
thinking. My heart from the beating of itself
With the opening of a glass notebook
I exhale and reach, as with hope for a flutter
These things linked by a ficus, roots withering
When flying up over mountains
All likeness of a child and pomegranate, plush
Pruning to give light to the center
When calling out your name
Slink, as with the falling of stairs
Harp and lyre
As a child, I ate like a child
As a child, I spoke like a child
All likeness of a child and garden, plush
Dolls lay beside the bed waiting
Their hair of yarn braided and looped
Velvet across the toes and lace
Oh- The peak of this house
Stood, and then yelled from the praises
The praise echos fathers and sons
Echo and relieve a shouldered burden
With confessed heart, I the murderer
Walk streets with children and sleep at night
Mysterious, it is, that shadows have not
taken my day like my naked eye has undressed
Mountainsides with snowfall, a shudder
this echoing. This echoing. Still shouting
from the rooftop until legs swept
by avalanche and a playful act
Tilted back and empty of war, I go about the business of my day
until, with cuffs rolled and a cigarette, the moon knocks on my door.
Suddenly upset and easily kindled, he moves toward me like a city
shadowed by a single cloud. Its jagged edges an eraser on the tip
of seven wooden pencils, rubbing out happiness. All I have
is the recitle of 28 years of wounded apologies
and a kiss of faith, and after twenty minutes of slide-show reuniun
he pushes off to recount the days when the valleys didn’t seem so lonely. Smoke
trailing behind him, and a glance back, he moves slowly to the sky.
thin curling along the length of split whiskey-leaves up and back again like the smoke it creates when cool and humid, it lingers, drawing Noah on the wall leaning over a stone for rest.
the whale, bleeding, in my belly, begging since that day on the plane where, as it were, i had not had a drink of water. thirst not quenched by esspresso, and body still moving although sitting.
the whale continuing in it’s pursuit of escape, pressing and pulling in the corridor. I had been confused as a childs’ uncle, which proved to be almost fatal. fell I, into the whales’ ignorance, a concoction of cranberries and apples. spitting up on sand that which I had crept. and in it’s creeping, I had slept.
was i to be a curled ball like the drawing or the smell of pipe?
