And now wacky am I, I thank you, mother, for
the days I take no pill;
the oak table that folds upon itself,
a hinge, a turn, a hidden box
containing nothing, a silence left to me alone;
the vaporous song echoing here from the
dusty floor of a small house
in a village like so many.
I thank you that I somehow sing
though rhythms and their verses
keep note and meaning but to me,
through the doubt that song to my self
in silence be song at all.
March, 2009
Tuesday, July 23, 2019
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And Wacky Am I
And now wacky am I, I thank you, mother, for the days I take no pill; the oak table that folds upon itself, a hinge, a turn, a hidden b...
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Walked past, by your place today, in the neighborhood, you know, scouting poetry at a bum academic show of a score of miserable poets'...
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Lock it up! There is no one more powerful than thee, For regardless how you exit or explain Unless you put lights out and lock up...
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He looks back at me, reflects my order to stop smiling and not to stop because of him. He asks to try a frown, to look into his eyes, t...