catching a glimpse
a lost tribe of free
antelope
deep on the hills
and valleys
sweet freedom of
the unseen
where under the shadeless
sun
long plains of kansas
a state of being
a state of the united states
before me a long new
highway built
behind me
an island of weighted sand
windless heat
seemingly no retreat
sweat on the hand of
a blind lover
if one runs to be
unseen
if to see
the mirror of an
endless sea
only a man
lost to the seasons
dares
no retreat
Out on the highway in Kansas with no prospects for moving on can be a time of being parboiled in the heat, followed closely by tornadoes and drenching rains/hail/lightning. But come winter, you would freeze your balls off from blue northers coming down every couple days.
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Ron
Love ya!
Jane