one of the Dakotas
“So come, my friends, be not afraid. We are so lightly here. It is in love that we are made; In love we disappear. Tho’ ...
“poet, it’s your day,” she says.
groggily growls the growler,
“what’d ya mean?”
“the sun came up today early,
but partly cloudy interrupt-us has arrived subsequently,
worse, the Great Swami Interpet predicts rain comes
heavy this afternoon on our journey home.”
he reflects upon his craggy, scraggly image that is
reflected upon the cold brewed black coffee.
replies carefully without thinking,
“today I will commence writing under
a new guise, a new name, a different persona!”
“whom shall we be today then?”
“come back to bed revelation poet”
how poems get plucked from trees of passing conversations and new poets
come into being...