As potent as the drugs flowing from an IV drip,
I the prodigal son of this town,
the only one to infuse the blood of a much needed sacrifice into it's veins,
the one to carry the souls of those past,
those future,
those fleeting few at the end when the long standing foundation that has held up countless feet and dreams,
no longer stands and in it's place breadcrumbs fall,
thousands from the sky,
folly and few,
until embedded in the very ground it lands upon.

I, the one from the third house down the lane,
the all seeing all knowing all feeling touch,
climb the silo and above take in the view,
the little lives and scattered stories,
told once in still rooms with only the orange light of a desk lamps,
then carried away on drool into the storm drain,
with the leaves and street grit.

I, the babe,
once innocent and tender,
and still so within me exists,
carried through an entire lifetime on a sled,
down the sidewalk with only the sight of street-lamps as stimuli,
past every corner and home a dream implanted from my eyes to theirs,
yet mistranslation corrupts the many and what can I do but allow,
their own bibles to be written.

This town belongs to one king and one son on both sides of the mountain,
snow to teach them lessons,
rain to cleanse their wounds,
and to keep this monolith of a civilization alive,
all that is prophesied,
to run far, far away,
in place.

Little feet buckled up
in scuffed Clarks,
we ambled down hill

Below, the valley
coloured toasted wheat
smelled of forever

The school hall,
everyday familiar
for singing hosannah
became exotic, foreign

Different games played
and illicit sherbet
in cardboard tubes
to be chewed to a pulp
in carefree mouths

All the term rules fell,
and stayed away
til the apple trees called time

I swear a good deal more when in the city
my wife observes as we two wend our way
along the street. The towers are kind of pretty:
walls of glass, yet blocking out the day
so down here on the sidewalk dreary shadows
are damp reminders of how far we've come
from towering trees, from open mossy meadows,
from ravens swishing by. Look, here's a slum
a block or two from banking towers and glamour.
I should not fault the place. Variety
is the spice, they say. But such a clamor
of humans challenged by sobriety!
Life here was once quite good to me, but now
I'm just a rustic, pining for his plow.

Few recall when the earth was scraped back
Over four score ago
To show the extensive gravel waiting to be abused

Horse pulled wagons consumed bites of earth,
One shovel-full at a time
To spit and ***** their contents
So no mud holes will grow  
Along trails black with mid-west loam

These roads carried us to and from places
To get what we did not need
For we knew how to be sustainable
Long before it became a popular movement
Long before progress discovered the quantity
Beneath the outer bones of the field across the road

• This great division of space. •
And the untamed plants.

Geckos...
Pose as domestic pets -
slide along its faded railings.
Casing draughty walls,
tethered to rafters loose lashing;
hanging in jungle green.

I clean up the wild flowers
that float   in   the  a i r, without
explanation, without wrong measure.

Is as it comes -  
I am ashamed that this is all I want.

A testament to solitary hawks in the upper branches.
Flutter in memory carefree cardinals
in this leaf-strewn place,
Dragonflies form wing-prayers
We kneel and peel our shoes off,

drop our feet to sleeping grass
to be closer to the narrow splendor.

Peacocks honk rough phrases, asking anyone.
Commuting the tracks, between valley stream.

I linger limbo roads
On the jungly drive,
pass a farm that repeats
its exotic fruit tree, the elbows of orange blossoms
Guava groves, avocado arsenal,
saturated ocean views beyond pestyflower frills.

At the life proof gate. This world is untidy
with its muddy banks, with its eyes.
1000 flower bloom
Listening feral fowl, ungulate shake  

Retirees friendly fire,
Long forgotten barbwire crossing creeks
the mountain lost in a sea of green    
This land, like me, is free
To live a less domesticated dream