I stand alone and clap in the park at midnight and turn the crank and the music continues its qualities are questioning appreciation notes of clarity floating softly on lines supported with breath the song goes pump blue blood in and out of my friend's heart warm and safe in my chocolate parka
it is a gift to whom or from whom I do not know but it is a gift dating from some past era when differentiation is unfashionable or unnecessary now it is too often confused and left on the staff with many others alive, dead, and not yet conceived however this time the tune is played like a familial love drunken holiday I and it birthed in exercises before memory
compass divining rod global positioning system the blind fold that wraps my eyes from sight stacked ducks broken twigs bread crumbs strewn along the path to Gretel's future and pounding the pounding coxswain metronome even the reminder of air and trust the song it plays stirring ashen chicken bones and grooved goat hooves on my Father's ranch
please include rushes of traffic honking horns ticking pocket watches folded leather wallets unfolding with bills dispersed
and help search for its voice it is late shush I believe it is sleeping.
© Donald Grube, 2010
it is a gift to whom or from whom I do not know but it is a gift dating from some past era when differentiation is unfashionable or unnecessary now it is too often confused and left on the staff with many others alive, dead, and not yet conceived however this time the tune is played like a familial love drunken holiday I and it birthed in exercises before memory
compass divining rod global positioning system the blind fold that wraps my eyes from sight stacked ducks broken twigs bread crumbs strewn along the path to Gretel's future and pounding the pounding coxswain metronome even the reminder of air and trust the song it plays stirring ashen chicken bones and grooved goat hooves on my Father's ranch
please include rushes of traffic honking horns ticking pocket watches folded leather wallets unfolding with bills dispersed
and help search for its voice it is late shush I believe it is sleeping.
© Donald Grube, 2010
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