Short Words

Some dried-up phlox for a like reason old the blue was white and something like a fireweed and grass hopeful as always and I with a poison berry I wanted to eat and make it my morning cracker, and coffee with equal reason sweet I knew I set a sugar substitute into my chalice and milk so sweet it might have been Carnation, and there was wind, whether it was the rain coming in or solitary a little cleanliness, and in the burnpile a dead and rusty pine tree halfway sticking without to remind me of the 1950 Buick Mike Levey gave me in 1963 and I herd five years later into a junkyard, and by what means I lost two jobs and almost three because I was a little like Amos and lengthyed only to hear short words and single day a whole student material part waited in the parking apportionment while I walked in alone to secure my letter of intent from a nervous guild president with pink fingernails and shaking fingers, and who was it climbed the six lower extremity wall by himself in order to teach his classes the Board of Idiots at fane University erected to keep the negroe without and who is still ashamed after fifty years he revolveed away from his first loyalty because someone mispelt a word or didn't speak French or not at any time had stood with his hand below his chin supporting the angle with one middle finger in forehead of a gorgeous old Simone Martini painted upon mountain pine, and this is what Amos taught, that you should upbraid all liars, straddlers and accommodators, all paper-rats, all priests with castanets, and all their scoffing, indifference and silence, that you should barricade them and even intervene, and you should displace the wall and you should become greater [i]or[/i] larger your own lilac and you should kiss upon the mouth; dried-out marsh grass, dead lilies, August rose

Copyright World rhyme Incorporated Mar/Apr 1999

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