February 23, 2013

contemplating the nature of things.


we galloped across wind torn pages
doodled and squiggled on
by
someone else.

i shouted!

"the wailing words of poets with guitars
tugs at my guts
SO HARD
my heart shakes
like a chihuahua, cold
despite its little red sweater!"

you laughed in the sun
crinkling your eyes 
like some old man 
down south
perspiring 
on the 4th of July
beneath silver fireworks
he'd seen
one hundred times
before.

and so it is.

"are we just some little bits
sprinkled over here
and there?
or
dingy fingerprints
on page forty-six
of a lost library book?"

speaking to my soul:
the edges of your eyes
now a placid lake
on tawny skin

a mirage in this desert abyss.