Month: September 2023

Jupiter

Blushing round the piggy bank, the saturnalia sisters run back and forth to the vegetable garden, behind the farmhouse.

Jungle boogie funksters dance to the heavy beat and break a few as they go. Fighting irises conjure up a feast of pheasants to feed the five thousand.

Galoshes end the street puddles and collect razor sharp carrot sticks. Polite orangutans tap dance into the hearts of five hundred year olds.

Stork hydrant rolling overture rankled beams into spaceships leaving for Jupiter.

Don’t Do It

Exec plops into chair and writes note to self. Don’t forget to care. Don’t forget about the little man or woman. Don’t keep it all for yourself.

Wouldn’t that be nice. Wouldn’t it be great if someone in power gave it all away. I know, it does happen, every now and then.

Wrong tests move death to life to death. Crashing waves cross plagues with Chinese amber knees and Colgate semifinals and coteries.

Life is like a restroom. You never know how much toilet paper you might have in the stall. Creases come closely to shirt tails and blue templed fish with yellow fins.

Lynx are the bathtub dreamers of the millennium stop said stop! Apples are not the kindest fruit that’s bananas. But not to your waistline.

Creatures from the American swamp open alligator jaws and find little kittens. And puppies. And people parts. You would do fine in ample tree vines.

Find fallopian tribes in coal mines and little kids on play grounds don’t try it at home. Drown Spiteville in closet canker slow pokes don’t do it.

Frosting

Smile lack so sad smooth life is not that weep for the end is near the beginning is coming the satisfaction of all will be found on the mountaintop.

Close the door (the end is near) but don’t fear for god is here. Womb shallow river pour out on this congregation of ne’er do wells and corrupt citizenry and ghost town revelers.

So much to leave behind a simple backpack is all I carry a sack with no lunch nothing but a cup to fill with water when I can.

Can you find the ancient ruins beneath the supermarket? The burial ground under the rollercoaster? What’s new? I don’t have a clue.

I like endings. Beginnings, not so much. I like meandering and intoxicating and flurries on a cool night. I like rivers and hills and dead man’s curve.

Do you see the end coming? It’s near, I tell you! Really close but doubt comes closer and I believe in doubt. I like to humor doubters and double crossers and hooligans.

How many doubts does it take to make a faith? How many truths does it take to make a scripture? So many confusing sorts of dreams and all kinds of visions and stalactites and frosting.