I am on
the wrong road
or trail
or path
or whatever works for you
for days and days. I sit
down at the counter and
eat bad egg salad
on rye
with too many chips
and a coke I couldn't
really feel for.
Its all too much.
So I turn over
stones and look for
salamanders or
is it newts or
maybe its rotty logs I
want to be turning here to
feel twelve again
concentrated and
light.
None of it will do.
Then I am
aimless on a walk
but not
in a good way
I'm on main roads
when the dusky backstreets
rife with cats
are called for and I'm
stopping at
all the wrong stores and
buying a coffee
I don't want
coffee only soothes
and joyfuls
in the morning.
You know what it is
to not be
in your body
the thick and dark and
bubbling clouds
without rain.
3 comments:
If the year was any prior to 1970, you'd surely be famous; on par with the greats.
Seriously, you single-handedly restored my faith in poetry, and for that I am truly in debt.
After so many years of 'slam' and slacker 'skeet' destroying any reason to bother, you bring a true, honest, palpable voice into the game.
There are truly few who understand - even fewer brave enough to write naked. Please never stop. You actually help give me courage to do the same.
word verification: glike.
What TL said.
Really your images are so clear. And so much of what you write seems to resonate with where I am. It's funny how things go like that.
At the very beginning of my ordinary day, this extraordinary communication and compliment.
I'm so glad to know its been something good to you.
An ordinary day transformed. Thank you.
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