Monday, January 27, 2014

Prior Consent

I found that the aesthetics of the
phoned-in confession
tended to disrupt
the purity of my dreams

Nothing that a fresh coat of
paint wouldn’t cure but

given how relentless the sky can be when you
need a place to hide & the sea-
breeze stepping it up in the ancestral cypress my

preference would be to watch the sun
set rust into rust as the medicine man’s daughter
said You can lead a horse to water but you can’t
make it dance

just as dying of thirst is the
drowning man’s curse a
shake & bake resolve can’t break down the door of
compassion anymore than these tinsel
strands of seawater can hogtie the redolent
haze that

seems to have settled in for the long haul now