I am looking in on my existence
From the outside window of
My lifehouse in a hazy mirror
Through a cloudy monocle
I can almost see what a
Faze of interesting things
Have yet to say splenetically
How long will the portentous mind
Crank away at an irresolute and
Ghastly perspective shadows
Pooling distant verdant and red
Circumventing around the trees
In brilliant gazelle-like motions
Winter releases the last season
Beneath my feet and my boots
From their duty while the snow berries
Laugh in jocular trembles at me
Sometimes I think they’re
Laughing specifically at me, the center
Of my heart is extremely sensitive
So when the cockles grow cold
I feel empty and fold over
Like a mattress squinched in half
Only enough room for the dust to
Slip out and catch fire
Burn up in flames, incinerated
Leaving only the circular springs
Hand tied to the bottoms
Of my shoes bouncing on
Wild mushrooms plump with private
Intentions eager to return
To a time when the best
Of myself can be seen
Even with clouded vision misty
While the dust settles before the
Next storm comes to drum the
Emotions out drowning them down
Pulling them out from under the chiffonnier
And I am an old rag-picker turned
Round into a Turkish rug maker
Delighting in the paintings of
What picturesque brushstrokes
Claim for a life worth loving
© GÄ
Poétique 