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 Mar 2015 Bruised Orange
JWolfeB
He wanted to be a gravedigger
A man bold enough to discover the past
Someone to show that our bodies return
To the earth that created us
 Mar 2015 Bruised Orange
JWolfeB
I have learned how to elaborately align the alphabet
Using sentence slaying structure using polite table manners
Constructing a script of well displayed emotions
Attempting to find new ways
To say I love you
love words sentences
The young monks
pick fruit from bushes
their tonsured heads
and bent backs
offered to
the afternoon sun.

I mowed the grass
by the monks cemetery
with the old petrol mower
ploughing through
the molehills
scattering earth
in all directions.

I recall her saying
kiss me here
and I had
and felt glad.

George,
the novice monk,
laughs softly
into the huge napkin
at lunch
in the refectory,
large a bedsheets,
he said.

I liked the shaking
of his tonsured head.
MONKS AND NOVICES IN AN ABBEY IN 1971.
 Mar 2015 Bruised Orange
r
play me an air
   a bluebird lament
something meant for the breathing
  to remember

  all i want to hear
is a soft melody
  sad as the winter
still on the wind

     let your bow waltz
on the strings of my heart
     let the sound
  of your fiddle
set sail

play me an air
   like the bluebird did
     while i dance
  with the snow
in my hair.
r ~ 2/25/15
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