Monday, June 20, 2011

I Plan To Steal But Never Do

No sign yet of the Black-eyed Susans though they are everywhere in my dreams. There where a fawn slept, nestled in the grass. A riot of clover, a reminder to pay attention.

The brook foamed skidding down a slew of granite stairs. No sign of the beavers, but plenty of swallows feeding overhead. Forget-me-nots, which I couldn't if I tried.

May I show you another thing? Just five more minutes, five more minutes. Can I tell you something?

Two nightmares while walking home isn't bad for a guy who won't accept Jesus. Winter is for dressing warm, summer is for pretty. A rust-colored stone, smooth and square, a turkey feather, the quill intact.

What's your name again? We spoke briefly about your cross-dressing poodle. I can't outrun anything with wings, mosquitos included.

I called up the stairs but nobody answered. Soft breeze after twilight, smell of rain in the honeysuckle. Saw that water bucket again, the one I plan to steal but never do.

Oh how the past taunts without forgiveness. Tell me again you love me even now.

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