RAILROAD POETRY

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Kazoo

April 11, 2011

These stories
That my bones whisper
Are no longer mine

With every breath
I give them back
To the teller

Consigned to
The belly of a laugh
Or a pint of crude

Neither brings comfort
But believing in something
Creates heritage

Down below the root line
Becoming a fraction
For scratching heads

And in a straw-straight breath
Or reed's breeze
Is a marching tune
--
4.11.11

Comments

Ante Meridiem

Things are rarely laugh out loud chuckle giggle snicker Is a more realistic account respond CGS To let me know you agree and will abide I hate liars Except when I lie usually for good reasons to get what I want or to protect someone from emotional damage but only when necessary wince grit tension WGT I sit and wonder why I don't have a garden Wanting to know if weeping willows can flourish in the Northeast Pipes running who knows what to who knows where All these connections lost without action Action such a strong word for not dead CGS Unless you're getting it hot and heavy LOL Kind of an embarrassed reaction to action Screen name IP address Internet provider Operating system I saw a lake on TV and wondered if you lived there with your family It was probably within 100 miles of your life the life you built So deliberate With hands and stamina Mostly in Summer This summer almost gone Reminds me of no time I ever had growing up You, so different On ice skates with sticks waitin

Vibrant Conflagration

In a pink ribbon Similar to rendered fat Against playful sterno blue There are tubes waiting Delivering cleverly cinched sacs To temporary destinations Collected and redistributed A fine spread At the courtesy of our dear queen Burning like an orange tunnel To dawn's hotel

A Walk Downtown Instead

Feeling power in numbers Or loose around the bumpers The walkers cross in pack So I attack Not the front or back end Not a claw for the weakest I punish the middle Attacking what will scatter Then confusion Perhaps a resolution I yell at a biker, too Making slow movements through Preferring the slipstream I say, "hey, homie, use your bell!" He was ahead, but now behind Using me to face the grind That's what I think of chumming It's a good flow when traffic isn't coming But congestion isn't for the weak of heart And beginners make for cold dinners -- 7.31.13

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