Tuesday, February 21, 2017


Not intending
these transformed words
to hang out on line
or meter
for it's Thursday
when Em the house keeper
next door
washes the clothes
in the machine
down cellar
and takes them out to dry outside
yet somewhere this Beat poet
takes a deep breath
of fresh air
in a frozen second month
of the new year
knowing we live only
by hearing tongues at the lore
of the past tense
or living internationally
in another country's metaphor
from a secret metamorphosis
waiting to expect a spark of change
yet unsure at this time
at the horror of Atomic war
Mr. Kurtz
for we do not fear the worse
not expecting
to be at attention as a cynosure
as we eye a sea bird
passing overhead
in the pleasure of an azure sky
today playing riffs of jazz
on the Ottauquechee river beds
toward the cliffs
of the Green Mountains
yet believing in the future
to arrange every life's mystery
if even you will remember me
or if these unsung words
will open introspective eyes
into a glass darkly
at a peace of forgiveness.

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