Long ago a lightning had burnt her dry
But her resolve its might couldn’t foil
Her gnarled hands spread on the merciless sky
She stands on her root in the soil.

You may think she’s there without a purpose
For no foliage now adorns her frame
Not one leaf rustles in south wind’s rush
You can’t even tell what’s her name.

Petals don’t bloom she’s ****** long dry
Her shade lures no traveler to rest
You may wonder she stands there why
Bereft of seasons’ colored fest.

Her trunks sunburned naked and bare
I ask why this purposeless waste
Till I find out one cute raven pair
Has made her their dreamful love nest!

Beats me how silly
people can be

I ordered online
part 669
but they sent me 699

I sent it back -
and would you believe it? -
6 times again and again
those nuts
sent me part 699
instead of part 669 that I asked for

Beats me how silly
people can be
for when I sent it back the seventh time
they sent me 699 again, with a note:
“Turn box other way round”

Now, why didn’t they tell me that
the first time round?
Beats me how silly
people can be

He was in love in a time I was not,
he fell out slowly;
I fell in. Deeply and tragically.

a useless cartographer
i would be,
as all roads
my love would lead me
back to thee..
all seas
would wash upon
thy shore....
all rivers fjords
and waterways
would  be found to flow to your doorstep in a cascading
maze
meridean, ley lines,
all would be  
******* in  bows and attached to your casement windows
mountain, plains, steppes
and vales would rest
adoring, in your garden pails

so i could not
be a cartographer.....no
useless would i be.

then I am wearing black suit,
white shirt, black tie,
pockets full of tissues,
most crumpled, mostly used,
like my spirits

If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
in a baptist church,
a nice jewish boy,
fixing his askewed tie,
doing what
The Lord commanded of him

If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
sunny and 72 Farenheit,
inside of me its a different forecast,
y'all decide the condition,
the condition I'm in

I'm in the way back row,
humming so softly,
me and Johnny C.
nobody hears,
nobody cares,

She stood in the crowd and shed not a tear
But sometimes at night when the cold wind moans
In a long black veil she cries over my bones

She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave where the night winds wail
Nobody knows, no and nobody sees
Nobody knows but me

nobody knows, I am there,
nobody sees, nobody believes,
but god only knows I am here

my spirit taken here
unasked, unaided, unabated
did not have to fly,
the ship that was to take me,
busted on the rocks

for
the words that are used
to get the ship confused
will not be understood as they’re spoken
for the chains of the sea
will have busted in the night,
will be buried at
the bottom of the ocean

still
If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
at a funeral,
my words gone silent,
even store bought stock phrases,
so sorry for your loss,
not for sale, all gone, all aloft,
all sold out on
this Sabbath day

If it's 2pm,
I am in Augusta,
in some form of which
not readily acquainted,
my new context a riddle,
never knew this morphosis
till now, until
it was needed,
all on that day

If it's 2:45pm
can't understand
all these people standing
over me, and the sidewalk
taste in my my mouth

it appears I appeared
on east 57th street
in my New York City,
it appears I appeared
to have
fainted dead away,
asking me not where how or when,
only why,
and I have no answers for
them or me or anybody who dare asks
a quest,
commencing and ending in
why

must have been the heat,
but decide then and there
maybe go visit
my Jordan and
my grand children