Notes on Living Poetry

this world is unfinished. we all know that.
the habitats of strangers are 
	reckless alphabets

through a small hole, i can see their 
deserted backyards. a boy hurls 
a prairie into space, listens to 
Neil Young and 
	cultivates a soul of leather
puffs his chest everlastingly

…better to be mellow and 
	out of touch

says an old man singing songs of 
	sunny folk country

the zebras have wishbones and 
birds scraps of metal
	so, why don’t we 
consummate this feeling with 
little trouble? 

oblivion is a sidewalk, friend; go slowly and 
	save yourself from kindness

the fanatical textures of 
	old sedans and peace trees

but nothing of tangerines, no.

nothing of umbrellas 
and their frantic bottoms

8 responses to “Notes on Living Poetry”

  1. “cultivates a soul of leather”…really good line…a soul fashioned with intention but to what end?
    “oblivion is a sidewalk, friend; go slowly and save yourself from kindness”…fragile truth and a melancholy feel to it which we all seem to be drawn to.

    Liked by 1 person

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