The geese turds have frozen
The tracks in the open
Snow from the trees shaken loose
The geese turds have frozen
The tracks in the open
Snow from the trees shaken loose
She ran off
With a rasta man
In the Jamaican hills
This tourist lady
They calls it
Walking on shells
But that was just one
Of the theories
The energy of
Paths splitting off
The water current
There wasn’t rough
The way the wind makes it skitter
The dried brown leaf
Becomes a creature
Lately it’s lasagna
Buffeting the buffet
It’s only macaroni
But some day
The bears are waking early
The chipmunks have gone squirrely
The v formation now a w
The birds think it’s spring
With their mad chattering
OM winter is yet to dip his bowels
In the cowl of snows
With time a detriment
Drill a safe hole beneath the lobe
Using included instrument
Insert the plug
And be drugged by the kaleidoscope
Of imagery
Free fall into a place of roiling image-o creation
Remove the middle(man) of screen and Sound
For the direct line
Into corpus callosum
This is Gertrude, 77
She shoplifts all her Christmas gifts
For her daughter’s growing brood
Though wrinkled benign
With gentle lively eyes
And soft knit cap
She’s sneaky sly and done the time
Using her shopping cart like a walker
She slows near a big talker
And whisks under her folds
Whatever his cart holds
Blindfolded at home she manages to wrap it
And signs it to herself, Gertrude from her mysterious Santa
This is what it’s come to each Xmas eve
Her colorful lights and booming merry corny tunes meant to deceive
And this year Sheila and all will get nothing
In the new year she’ll go straight, pay full price
From a job at Nickels N Dice
The drifters were always coming up
As suspects in local crimes
Patchy bearded, bleary eyed
We’d always scratch our chins “possibly”
Before they weren’t exactly cleared
But slipped off on obscure trails
Or the rails
To reappear in someone else’s mystery.
Does she really want to know
Her senses overwhelmed
By such vitriol and blather
She can’t really bear
The kind words
Where do you go
Covered in jewelry
And a sparkly shawl
Faced with the fury of it all
A worn, gentle face
But beneath
A desire for her to boil to a nub in her bathtub
Outside her half open window
A red hat blows