Two trails converged on a grassy tract,
I glanced at both, with time to bide,
And seeing what each grossly lacked,
Was glad I’d entered through the side.
I only guess which way each lead,
From context, maps, and getting lost,
Such crucial things escaped my head;
A fog of warmth in a summer frost.
I don’t think I’ve arrived alone,
There’s footprints here that I don’t know;
I feel as though my cover’s blown.
There’re beings hid beneath the snow.
If only I’d a horse, or sled,
Then maybe I’d decide much faster
I’ll pace in circles here, instead,
Until I’m caked in coats of plaster.
Two trails converged on a grassy tract,
With time to bide, I glanced at both,
And ignoring what each option lacked,
pushed across it into undergrowth.
A pale green scene
at sunrise, just before enlightenment.
The woods around the deck were rife
with magic. Cardinals knelt
on tuffets at the feeder
on the post beside the shed.
The woodpeckers percussed
with verve. The infant morn rubbed sleep
out of its eyes and pursed its ears.
The world was two parts dead.
We hadn’t lit a fire
In a period of months.
Our silence in the moment
warmed its hands and cocked its head.
We toggled between
giddiness and dawn’s
suspended breath.
The chill of waiting
shivered more,
and hovered overhead.
And in our heads we danced
to tunes played next to flowerbeds.
It’s not that there
is another option really. But it
is starting to become obvious this is all we’ve got.
And the scars from the loudest
past versions of ourselves
weigh down our skin
and jangle on the keyring.
What it took to
mostly was patience
and the cost was time better spent if we ended up somewhere else.
My arm hung over top of your knee and wrapped to your inner thigh. We sipped our mugs
with just a little bit of whiskey in our coffee and we watched the earth move playfully
blocking our view of the sunrise, instead
the light just twinkled
as it beamed between the trees.
A guy walked down the street to
The bar. He walks in, the bartender
Says hey, you grabbing anything else
And he looks around, puts his hands
Against thick but bubbled epoxy
Above what looked like bottlecaps,
Under the bubblegum. He picks them
Up and looks at them and says to the
Bartender, “Buddy, could I grab a shot
Of scotch?” With a sort of side-eye
Towards the door, and guy, the bartender
Suggests maybe he should try a beer
Instead.
The guy thinks about it for a moment,
Unzips his coat and reaches in, pulls out
A wad of cash and says, “For the next
Five minutes, I’m of Clan McClintock”.
The guy then, to the barkeeps full
Resentment, proceeds to ask “If you don’t
Want me just to have it here, could you then
Pour it in this flask?”
The bartender, confounded by the full-tilt
Confidence, acknowledges that while he wishes
That the guy would take a walk, He cannot in
Any conscience fulfill PART of his request.
The guy reaches into his jacket pocket, and reveals
A ringing phone. And says “I’M SORRY, I FORGOT”,
And puts it back. The screaming gives all guests a
Semi-sortof heart attack, but the bartender, used to this
Can barely seem to part-react. “A beer then, make it one
And I’ll go home. I’ll be all done”. Instead, the barkeep
Drops a single shot and “Go to bed”. Every body laughs
And they disperse.
The setup’s nonexistent, but what makes it even worse is
The punchline fills the coffin, and the callback drives the hearse.
It’s easy to cross a line no one can see.
In fact, you may not need to take a step.
Sometimes the world will move while you stay still.
By holding firm in place,
the net effect
is crossing over galaxies of light,
where truth will keep its eyes closed
In the dark.
Intent is just transparent at its base.
Of course, the eyes won’t capture it at all.
The watcher is the only one who sees,
developing the film
in cultured pans
awash with liquid fears,
and doused by hate.
I told a joke, a harsh one, that’s for sure.
But I was told my dark was visible.
What I hid found its way throughout my face.
My mortal sins, admitted,
closed a gate,
though I had never
visited that place.
