Something is amiss in this situation,
like a dog without a bone
or a dog who just buried one
and forgot where it even went.
Now our friend Fido
will go around
digging up holes
in all the neighbors’ yards
without any prize
at the end of his grimy toenails.
He’ll still be satisfied
from the act of digging anyway,
but at what cost?
Sticking a smock
in a smoke-filled sauna
sounds so silly to me
when I think of it,
and I’d rather
shell out some simoleons
to Miss Sandy
for a liberty steak
any day of the week.
Throw the counsel
to the primates,
the primitive speculative
kind of people
that would lean to a window
and spew all their feelings
like bleating little lambs.
Have a porta john
installed in your backyard
as a prank against the logic
of a man askew from wisdom.
Put the plank of a parrot
in your hair to see if you care
enough to try on a golf glove
while you commemorate
the skies of the burgundy chipmunk.
Give them all a nice hand.
The robin sits on the branch,
perfectly still. It’s puffed up,
conserving its energy
on the chilled November afternoon,
contemplating the stars
that it can’t yet see.
Then it takes off for another tree,
to continue its watch
from a different vantage,
perhaps triangulating its experience
as nearby squirrels chirp and scratch
at each other by the trunk.
Nothing is keeping itself at bay,
a cold breeze tells us all
that winter approaches.
We must stomp on the negatives
before they build up through doubt,
a smile necessary to complete the circuit.
Before nightfall, gather wood
for, at the very least,
a rip-roarin’ fire
that will last through daybreak.
No sense in freezing
if we still have blood
flowing through our veins.
Just don’t get anything too green,
or the smoke will howl
with the dying breaths
of those we burn tonight.
Bent over the hovering stairway’s landing,
I crawl through my own ignorance
just to convince myself
that stairs are meant for climbing.
I go one step at a time,
a novice unsure of proper footing
and without a handrail.
I dare not look behind me
at the infinite darkness
beckoning me, “Just fall,
I’ll catch you eventually–
or so you think.”
Being in the glen
of otherworldly struggle
boggles the mind
to new heights
never explored by our kind.
Maybe other peoples have raced
to these fresh conclusions
before us, but
that’s just fancy thinking
at this point.
WHARVED 