October 23, 2015

stealing signs...

stealing signs 

by legerdemain 
slight of hand 
and misdirection 
I, poem says, will 
often miss the point...

the scent of you 
cannot be masked...

a surreal bright flash 
I didn't see 
felt only 
blinders on, 
tuning to the parade decay 
death when nights first knife 
into bone ripe bodies 
of once was 
sweet somber(s) 
little leaves slow burns 
turning paper bells 
scattering prattles

what of it...our mutual interests 
and needs...frost and gourds...
nurturing the nesting daring...
and have you of course 
cup waiting fill
of the road ripe 
our desire will 
still be wearing...

our eyes, having sworn
allegiance to the brain 
begin promising again, 
not to grow 
too mad 
with cabin fever 
this Winter...

nose knows better...
keeps much wine 
at the ready...


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