Dry eyed poetry
The night I died I wake up early — 5am — and wipe my withered eyes of sleep —
I peep out the at the dewy green lawn now beaded with moisture —and feel like rolling in the lush flourishing foliate freshly
The morning rain creates crusts of hoarfrost as the sun rays sprays its gay day light bright — into the hot rooftop — top
Leaning over my window sill I smile at the crow barking at the piece of crust I hold tightly —
Windows here are non drafted — non sealed — cracking — leaking — creaking and
I see next door’s open back gate
A deer frolics its way across the parkland and into the forest badlands
Recently I saw a cockroach appear — jumping past quickly as if he knew I was enemy number one
I didn’t try to get it — rather let it go along the way — across the bench and up and into the cupboard — not wanting to assess the mess it might leave after being in there
Bush ‘Dread Zed’ said he would be in the brushwood after ten only he didn’t make it again
Decorated and funny he lacks punctuality and reliability — erasing points off of my mindful mentality tokenistic consciousness
He left a gas map — mishap — catnap — fat-snack for the girl with the large rap — *** — sat —in her lap — Cat — a friend of mine who I occasionally sleep with
Gyani and Tao exercises for the limber and supple take out the late afternoon not quite as rough as past classes
Little do I have left of my Iyengar yoga instruction I did for over ten yearsor over ten years
Agile as a jaunty kid of eight I stretched — up — doing the crab — better than everyone else in the class — down into a headstand holding for over fifteen minutes then pitch a perfect posture poised in plain sight for everyone to see
The instructor liked to push us
But that was a while ago and existing (time) takes on a different meaning as you grow older
It appears as an extra second of life that you must have had but can barely imagine nor remember doing or living
Or driving in — or dancing with— or gallivanting over — or jumping out of the box— or stuck inside the head— or in a blank space —
Maybe just around the corner and back —
Clued to be fed up with exhaustion and desire to change — sometime — when?
Tommy draws a picture of tomorrow evening at dusk— wild eyed and smart I like him a ton —
I feel his head slump on my shoulder and tears flow from his pretty face — ***** dawny fawny drawny — until morn — down his cheek — like salty sea anemone
Hanging for a hit
Gear is easy to come by here
Otherwise you would go
mad
Insane language is spoken by the tongue of Eastern Europe — Old Czech Republic — Croatians — mixed with cheap red wine makes crazed gloating girlfriends scatter — plot the data in a bottle and fly away
Some folk say things like ‘don’t change’ when they really mean
‘I wish you would alter your clothes’
Sam dances around me like a dervish
A special man who was at the *** end — break up — early of his laddy to go
Futile bit — **** of a little kiddie — exited
Poor sore raw roar furore More tears are fraught with gaunt ****** leanings — meaning seeming yearning — gone boyo of 15 —
Sam reminds me of an older woman — wise wizened—
Grown men cry too during a
Guffaw — **** taking falling off hopping laughter
The end of the story
Mimi Bordeaux February 11 2025
