Not So Much

I evaded capture today         with only a handful of dust         to escape that Old Sandman Death.         Certainly, those maroon berries,         so large & luscious,         crowded on their fat stems         had something to do with it         as did the ground fog         leaving its burrow as so many boll-weevils         their crowded nests.         And there might be something to the fact         the moonlight sat         fat & confidant in the night sky         as surely         as my head rests on this pillow         and the poem invites itself         into my lair of thoughts,         much as nestlings charge the         entrance to the runway         of a tree.         I walked flat out         in an instance         as standing urine         held its own stench         and the grim splash within the pond         dead center in the wilderness         underscores the tone of this warning.         One thought encapsulates wonder         though suggestive evil hides         leaden leaves buried in lake mud         down the corner eaves of someone's         fire hydrant mind.         When you pray for someone         an Angel sits on their shoulder,         when that same someone hates you         does that Angel die of grief?         Serendipity is a flower         and those clouds         re-arranging the breeze         harbingers of forbidden things         not so much like these boulders         use hand-held scissors to open twilight         and watch this fading light ebb forth         tip-I-toe like a bird         squeezed thru an opening         in its cage.