Dawn layers trees in spindle branch
Dark…ember oranges paper clouds,
Dragging Gray into tomorrow…
The artist does not chose the colors.
They are already painted with ancient
Wisdom…peeking, hidden.
Wisdom drips seen.
Hearing is for the deaf.
———————————————–
2.

Hills of clouds, rolling soft beging mounds
Into Everest peaks…thunder a growling stomach,
Needing Lightning tidbits, black-seared trees…
Easy, quick, delicious crashes…
Needs no refrigeration.
———————————————————
3.

Day dragons huff fire thru dawn, syncopating
Levels, layers, loveable colors…hours scratch
Clocks, fire dampens, and day raises up into
Dragon wings.
—————————————————
4.

White grays grayer, cloud puffs, strings haphazardly
Sky morning into broken shards, glassy
Sky slivers.
—————————————————–
5.

Ripples dark, light pocking bayou water
Seething never-asked-for dawnlight.
Waters accept gracefully, winds high…
And water fights in towers, white-tipped.
These were written in the 30 minutes of peace I had, until all hell broke out at the bridge….just a normal day at work. HA!

the tall kid was pulling his member’s
only jacket on
when his tall dad walked in

then –

they were both tall and not as if
they were medium in heels or the way a sears
tower once was
and not like any other tall

I can’t think of ;

a poem I’ve thought about
writing – with a black pen
and white paper.
.
.
Happy Hiram – seriously, if you had half a brain you wouldn’t be here sharing your GED.

Brush the chip from a narrow shoulder and you’ll wake up where melange is simply grey.