July 1, 2011

In Boulder...

I have written so many poems
for just the pure love of being clever
that sometimes I forget
why I started writing in the first place...


and I wash up in tides as rich and raw as a thick June evening letting go into July after the rain hangs the air with what I've always wanted lightning to be and not having to remember the fancies of the long flighted birds hatched from all my flotsam and jetsom with their backs to the Sun and beaks strung ,hung waiting for when the wind winds round back soil to sky, hearts seeded in the tall rye...

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