Definitely! Those grackles on
the deck sound like mynah birds!
Old salts celebrating
the oil-slick boat slips and
channel marsh at sunset.
Vinegar fries and your thighs
nestled in mine at Cap'n
Sunfish's, the old clock tower
in the west is just a shadow,
and in the east, as the lake chill
blows in, and the fishing boats
sputter in on low choke, marsh
geese natter and complain, the
boozehounds here are happy on this
midsummer night braying, cackling,
lowing, whinnying, you can
see the stars radiant in their
faces, these cake eaters!,
the wind behind their eyes swirling
like the heavens, water stirring
in the reeds, their souls. And so
we are reborn, naked and sensual,
drunkards, philosophers, swingers,
refugees, survivors of the
hunt a wumpus, the ancien
regime.
No comments:
Post a Comment