...the kind you wish you could tuck away in a nook
under the rotting planks of a run down shack
whose memories of days gone by
have been blotted out
and left behind
in the middle
...or the kind you find way back behind
the shoes and boots and dirty winter jackets
that reek the biting smell
of cedar and old feet
in the bottom
of a clammy closet.
...even the kind that belongs far off
in a field of forgotten flaws
where no one knows to search
deep beneath the surface
of the dirt,
mangled in the roots
of the sighing, weeping willow
(where you're certain it came from).
Probably no place could contain it though.
What pudding head birds would bring this on at sunrise?
Who forged these shifty plans to interfere
with my usual spirit
Even in the newness of a Springtime breeze
today seems artificial
with all it's drama
It should linger no longer...
to allow my eyes to watch
as finally it is swallowed
by a fatal sunset!
Her minutes are numbered.
In an instant she should be gone.
Deserving of a quick
and sudden death.
Any time now.
I'm sure many sages felt this way way back when man was first developing his theories on life after death. Even still, though the weather is somewhat inclement, I really like it here!! Although there is an impending preponderance of disaster that's clear to all I like to think we are going to make it through. In short this is depressing. Try to be more constructive!!
PS: Actually this was rather fun....need I mention my own theories on the existentially transcendental. Positively maieutic of you.