From co(s)mic anomalies to pericope winkles
we tug at our skins and smooth out our wrinkles
we polish the water to a high glossy sheen
and matter the weaving from ends to the mean
for with that keen input, those bit roots, brash strokes
we eye of the tiger and all that evokes
in witness to wonder the standing lie down
the cacophony ended, with nary a sound
Location: On the edge of tomorrow looking back at yesterday. Gender:
Posted:
Jun 6, 2023 - 9:24am
I looked into the sky today
An orange haze everywhere
Is this the beginning of the end
Or is it the glasses I wear
Itâs an Oompa Loompa kinda day
Waiting for the next bushel of oranges to drop
On my naked feetâs
Oh Fâkâs that hurtz
Work cancelled today but I still have a million things to do
It's beautiful outside for the whole day through
Maybe I'll just hang around here and harass you, you, and you
What else is a part time ne're-do-well going to do?
Takes all kinds of dirt
to bury the dead
Takes all kinds of hurt
to witness with dread
Leave talking to the talkers
when the talking's been said
Like living with the notions
of dying in your head
In a dimly lit room one might see in shadows what they might imagine in grief With life and death the currency of doubt and a pallid witness to abandonment and belief
One day, while wandering on the winding road to metaphor, I spotted an anachronism hiding amongst broken sheen and mounds of red dirt with dead bare trees and I thought to myself that this could be it. I stopped my red metal wagon with hard rubber tires and picked up to assemble the makeshift easel lying partially buried in the ditch. Reaching into a bag of jewelry I produced a few gobs of color and the axle grease from my trusty if rusty carriage and mixed the medium until the mash was mixed and the memes were a ghost. I peered through the glare and prepared my dirty red canvas and I felt a tug at the strings sewn into my hands and began to brush and smear and elbow my way into a house of signs as I wondered which wonders to paint. That was a really long and ridiculous to describe day.
I just saw a beautiful bluebird, perched on the edge of the gutter, her plumage the colors of the early evening twilight sky. My Mother loved bluebirds and sunsets. I'm sure I heard her sing, and sigh.
I must confess, I was one of those "why?" kids Always with the questions, "why?" Drove my Mom to distraction What? Bryan with a "why?" Why, Bryan? You're asking me? Why me? i answer from experience "because" B cause "why?" Bryan with a "why?" "i" notwithstanding That's what
bad Jokes are like bad poetry the punch lines are often spiked
So sad little sinew That I knew you when you Fleshed your tone from dust Breathe the breath you must Bringing forth the force through rust Iron and red the will well within you