Nature is Neither Dishonest nor Hopeless

Ripe for you. I am aging. The lines upon my hands Steal forward to declare my face, Like a poet whose ravenous mouth Forlornly opens one epoch, to eat another. So-Sigh-ity I wonder at drunks, who gushed flawlessly for hours, Speaking solitarily in fashionable bars. Their fine fight to startle the naive Releases me, because rarely are innocents astonished By truly a restrained thought. Chices & Reactions Who needs logical skylines? Where buildings feign to echo life within. Crickets cannot drown amidst technology’s hum. Only in nostalgic inner ears, Do their sounds die in unnoticed torment. A Vivid Dream Fretting imagining upon contested snow banks, Soldiers of Thought dart into darkened chapels. They “Check Out” from such ancient atmospheres, Since most arctic lodges are bound To possess counterfeit designations. I Awaken at Her Song INTERUPT!  Her LOVELY hair DRAPES my black sweater, With red gloves and pink lips, she plays her wineglass flute. From side to side, music rows her body like Strong wheat bending most lazily Upon the gentlest breeze. End of Relief. Lightning! Bare, perfectly climbable ski-jumps caused my tremors. However, scarcely crossable railroad trestles!  Oh, my! Their “Nowness” is a huge, silent fan that Illustrates history through to a predictably palatable prospect. I must therefore carefully reposition the aficionado. Someday, I may beat the train. Callback:  A Vain Song Begs Relief QUIETLY, she looks through the crack in my armor Reaches in and Written November 25th, 2001 © on Oct 17 2002 03:34 AM PST, Timothy G Cameron    0 • 9