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"micey" poems
Something small and winged outside my window sings To a new day? To invite it's kind in chorus? It does and that's enough An Old Sun arises to a fresh born day Not yet birthed but burgeoning A thousand times a thousand Indian paint brush reds come back to me From the pipe racks and sky reaching cranes These made things but also growing Ideas given structure by flesh. There, off a mile or so Boot heavied feet clump Horns warn, diesels clamour to motion Rattling about, a handful of rocks in a Campbell's can Once again to bring into being so much intent. And Beauty doesn't mind Isn't such a fragile thing That the hiccups and yawns of all our Micey thoughts should scare it off It's Here. Light upon Light upon every angle Something small and winged outside my window sings It does and that's enough.
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Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
james-raffan
At Four in the Morning
Something small and winged outside my window sings To a new day? To invite it's kind in chorus? It does and that's enough An Old Sun arises to a fresh born day Not yet birthed but burgeoning A thousand times a thousand Indian paint brush reds come back to me From the pipe racks and sky reaching cranes These made things but also growing Ideas given structure by flesh. There, off a mile or so Boot heavied feet clump Horns warn, diesels clamour to motion Rattling about, a handful of rocks in a Campbell's can Once again to bring into being so much intent. And Beauty doesn't mind Isn't such a fragile thing That the hiccups and yawns of all our Micey thoughts should scare it off It's Here. Light upon Light upon every angle Something small and winged outside my window sings It does and that's enough.
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