Friday, December 30, 2016

when I almost went there

because the real takes longer
sometimes you are fluid for a long time

you eat fruit and hope for meat
the lines are short and the skips between rocks larger

in the river of darkness
ghosts come with the mist   like herons seeking their feathers

it's hard to believe what comes out of your head
sometimes a poem is a body in parts put into a suitcase and dumped at the door

sometimes a poem is a dumpster
full of rotting food and one homeless person digging

I just hope for a poem
to coalesce out of the mist    to rain down on a parched garden

if it rains
I dance and if it stays foggy   I still dance

it is best to be happy no matter what happens
since the last moment is unknown and we can't be let into the secret

until it is too late
all I can tell you is that there is nothing afterwards

when I almost went there
it was darkness like the river    not even the mist like ponies galloping across the waves

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