Ever-prepared to twist a flask
through momentary fence slat openings–
to bounce among the crows
while somehow maintaining resistance
to cherry pie allures–
this bagel hoarder fails to stay a caricature;
his age includes his visions,
inquiries and musings.
His daily hike through neighbors’ sheep farms
dusts his mind, aerates his neurons
and rolls crisp–
long as the hills tumble green
with moss-padding deer,
caws carrying gaiety
over the hours, sometimes damp.
First draft posted to WHARVED on Jan 11, 2012, Entitled “#82”
Tree inhabitants incorporate pidgin into their daily doings, dramatically increasing exchange-related transaction speeds while reducing neighborly kerfuffles.
Friend–can I call you friend? Friend, I have no business prognosticating, much less evangelizing. However, I do need to get something off my chest: fleas appear to have invaded my scalp’s furniture collection. Odd how they went straight for the chifforobe, bypassing the genuine marble vanity. I was sure to have gone the rest of my life without incident, had it not been for those meddling bugs.
At this point along my personal story arc, scratching itches has become so excruciatingly routine. I’m bored to tears here! Perhaps suspending my dignity and scratching bare skin on a nearby oak will infuse my existence with a tad more razzle-dazzle. At the very least, I’ll have a fashionable anecdote for my monologue at the Antelopes gathering on Thursday.
Hm, it would appear as though the squirrels and sparrows have reneged on their linguistic compromise. Shut the hell up, will ya? I’m tryin’ to scratch my ass on this here tree! Jeez… bunch of animals.