Fly fishing the river of time
Wildlife -
imaginative sparks abound in telecaster
hair,
boyhood, birds...
stand on frills.
I am an old man now, a soul,
a young poet of 22,
my poems come from the world i see,
& we share.
there are old things in places,
mixed in with the birth of new ages
& technological upheavals
that
uproot
the past like a monied frenzied land lord
with a building full of poor artist tenants
who are the wood, brick,
& stone in water.
"but that building has the best views of the city"
- remarks Air of Constancy.
his paintbrush comes to life, breathing in
coastal mornings dim flutters of fog & light play,
horse hairs bounding in
strides of colour,
- the gallops of once.
there is a licking of the lips,
a peacefully possessed wink,
& a thick swallow -
" that is where the coyote meets
the man with the raven on his shoulder"
said old bark
to new yap.
you are easily florid,
an Olympian aesthete
of early morning,
late evening,
shivering & sweat.
- Curb Appeal
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