Monday, July 27, 2015

To Something Else

This yellow paint,

reminds me of a bird. 

A Finch I once saw,

On a feeder in a yard of a friend. 

Why doesn't yellow smell like yellow?

Why doesn't purple smell like purple?

All paint smells the same. 

It shouldn't be this way. 

All of these scratches,

Chips off the corners,

Where someone has hit them,

With something they were carrying. 

Jack my dog is watching.

Always trying to make eye contact.

Either to hug me, or, to tell me something,

I love every animal that has been a part of our life.

Cats, dogs, horses, crows. 

Crows have always been with me.

No matter where I've traveled or lived,

They find me.  

Once while moving to Spokane,

Driving from Oxford, Mississippi,

We stopped at an eatery in the Shasta Mountains, Northern California. 

Crows recognized me. You can ask my wife. 

I want to get out of here. 

Go somewhere where the weather is a ghost. 

A place of wind and mist. 

Where the ocean can be heard pounding a rocky shore. . 

Sell it all. 


Not away from anything,

But to something else. 


July 27, 2015

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