Sunday, March 04, 2007

odd with cubism

odd go the hours, in this
most odd of days
walking through weed-caked
fields, brambled
are they hungry
do they crave some sympathy
from my reckless feet
let me topple grandfather
blighted aunt, devil thorned cousin
crush yellow flower
strangling with a heady scent
may be i can roast these seeds
toss them to the crows
feed their senseless poesy

unbounded nature casts a pall
slings grays and dessicated green
into an already unsettled day
what moves me to seek
beneath the feet of God?
am i in peril to His passion
a plaything to the angels?
strum that harp into a frenzy
or fling a halo into play
i feel the tug of 17th street
beyond the breathing hills
it's there i make my frivols
there i mix my little deviltry
on this most odd of days

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