Goodbye...why?
Don't leave out the wandering door,
sit and finish these spiraled nutted cookies,
Apple Hill Special from the twisting trees
aging in the generations old summer tilled acreages.
We can glide our right hips over our right thighs
Shut down that calling of faint voices,
chattering through their cocktail party smiles.
While they promise a wealthy life
of building the all the world's a stage,
hammers fall one-two, one-two.
Rest here your child upon this wood plank floor,
see how he crawls swiftly, ambling upwards, notice his mobility?
Child's pose, rest here
The pocked market walls of this tatty room enshrine him,
he has laid his foot falls down, see,
Resounding, forever to re-sound.
Breath in, breathing out
Wait You!
Before you leave,
turn towards the rising horizon,
this foothill sun has still to set.
The day draws on so we can listen, the fiddler,
have you seen him yet? In town? No?
Then you shall not leave until his strings are spent.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
Goodbye...why?
Don't leave out the wandering door,
sit and finish these spiraled nutted cookies,
Apple Hill Special from the twisting trees
aging in the generations old summer tilled acreages.
We can glide our right hips over our right thighs
Shut down that calling of faint voices,
chattering through their cocktail party smiles.
While they promise a wealthy life
of building the all the world's a stage,
hammers fall one-two, one-two.
Rest here your child upon this wood plank floor,
see how he crawls swiftly, ambling upwards, notice his mobility?
Child's pose, rest here
The pocked market walls of this tatty room enshrine him,
he has laid his foot falls down, see,
Resounding, forever to re-sound.
Breath in, breathing out
Wait You!
Before you leave,
turn towards the rising horizon,
this foothill sun has still to set.
The day draws on so we can listen, the fiddler,
have you seen him yet? In town? No?
Then you shall not leave until his strings are spent.
For Melissa Rose
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