Poets are almost always sad
But that's because
We've been hurt
We've suffered
We've endured
But most of all we've persevered.

in the east
a dry man stumbled through the lush panacea of a dessicated prayer
his faith moved mustard gas. gasping for clarity, he spoke a thing no god could answer.
he languished in the Eden of empirical Dodos
a succulent squab in the oasis of fables. he joined the throng. his shackles were mended.
his bonds, repaired.

in the west -
a rye bread crumbles along a path to a candy house -
to a furnace of blank stares.
it waits moonlit and rustic, alas - it's mad and verily cloaked in a thing no ' nothing ' would ask for.
it leads to a breach.
weary of  " who knows ? "
a truculent husk of a drought mislabeled. an actual flood.
it rankles the vision...
it plots despair.

in the north, a gunga din fumbles through the arid Earnest of our Importance. There -
we play crude brass. Profundo. at last, we nearly...

and even though we wide spark the char of our scorched affair
we vanquish any Southland
and the warm sun
frosts a glass eye
like pyrite.

and polly wants a lacquer, dark enough to maroon...

Somewhere way down a long line of cars and roads on the opposite end of broken down gas station near a bedside tavern.
You were lost near a bushel of birds.
That chirped when you walked by.

And there was a cloud directly above you,
white.
Puffy.
Lost in the blue blue sky.
Only it wasn't.
It was shading you from the sun.

And you walked under an oak tree with a knothole in it.
Whispered your dreams in to it's trunk and walked away.
An apple fell from an oak tree.

Somewhere along the way you stumbled over the curb and forgave it for bloodying your elbow. The sunlight kissed your skin and suddenly there was nothing.
Like superman,
the sun made you strong.

And the radiance of yourself by the river as the logs drifted on.
Moon sparkle and bathe.
There was purity.
There were answers.

So said the squirrels as they squeaked about you in the branches.
I had another cigarette and forgot all about it.
-P.S.