A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
Gathering about my feet, Rushing to, fro, back, Some meet my eye, Temporary, suspend. Not like tiny white puffs. Not like purity icing taut face. Fun, frivolity beg me, chase! I lean into my lone implement — Dreaming with me — Dry, puzzling pair. Why repair — this, calloused. Forces greater ripple A patchwork loose-collecting — The only colors left Dehydrate, crisp Like fresh currency For a beleaguered soul Not cashing in, yet. How much more of this Bliss in an orange scene Without those little feet Departing from gravity, Up to their neck, beg me, Dive on in! Dive, daddy. I can’t remember how To enjoy this scene; can’t top The autumns we had, kids. She’s nearly bare; looks fridgid. Not bundled like me, unzippered, Releasing body heat And succulent sweat lent To the gray sky-air cool-coiling About a lone body clutching The dutious implement, Sent back to earth, combing Her green, brittle hair. When will white layers Hide us all in frozen perpetuity? 9.26.23 Maybe, I’ll work on this, break up, add punctuation, better expressions to capture visions and associated emotion. Reviewing, writing, alone. Seems perfect. |