They even pipe it into the bookstore
It’s never quite silent, though
there’s no lowing, not from God
nor his glutted blind bovine. Only
the thudding of shuffling ungues
on stereos hemmed, hidden
in the high grass—muzak
piercing through, prodding each
tagged ear. Far better this way—
now they needn’t contemplate
the cacophony in BARN 8, the strain
of strings tucked tight to necks, jammed
trumpets jutting through guts, and
the flutes flushed fast with blood.
No, much better this way.
Bow, hark, try not to think.
His first time: flight by ropes
(for Corbin Vaughn)
it’s fleeting
the rebuff
of a flutter
fleecing
the sway
in his wee
depleted eyes
exhausted
the college
girls of August
ferry a whole
life on the neck
heaving TVs
sleeping late
they flit
from mom
then return
we can’t split
a pendulum
a heavy head
tightened white
like a fading grip
on the tethers
just out of reach
give it up already.
The edict
There is, without question,
a tendency to beg for
those things we have
already.
For instance, I once
commanded God: turn me
into a poet, else I’ll pretend to
be a walrus.
Brugghhllff!
Rappel Annuel
I
(for one and once)
intend to celebrate
a soothing din
the cleansing mess
fresh from the wet
wax-laden day.
Hip hip
Brilliant /. forthcoming / Depth of daily Life – Situations !!! Always love your writings ✅