Poet’s Style

A lawn chair
On the forearm,
On the shoulder the
Of river birds,
Melody for a toy piano
Near the ankle.
The attire is simple and cut
To fit,
No shoes
But the idea of shoes.
No breath but air.
The real is put aside
Like a bell on the ground,
Like a trampoline at night,
Sleeves pulled up at the moon,
Distance for a logo.
Hunger like a table crowded with empty bowls.
Metaphysics II:
The cosmos on the lips,
I breath in theology through nostrils,
Pull its lint out of my belly button.
In conclusion:
The idea was to
Fly a kite, after hitching a ride,
To somewhere, somewhere, somewhere,
Sticking around long enough to see
Dusk pushing a shopping cart downhill.
it’s getting late              the science fiction of apple blossoms         
--------------------   x    -------------------------------------------------     =   
     tree tops                               cursive shoes
How the volume of time
Specializes in words
Out of our reach.

6 thoughts on “Poet’s Style

      1. Magic Sam went through a period in the 90s of gadding about town with no shoes on. I could never quite decide what I made of that! Was it affectation, creeping madness, the height of punk rock hippy cool? In a weird way it was all three. This was no country bumpkin sandy street seaside town! This was hound-shite, broken glass & chicken bone town. ‘But the idea of shoes’ to him, just then, seemed ridiculous, I suppose?!

        Thanks again for your words.
        All best, Nick.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. That’s a great story. The 90’s were similar for me. Lots of characters in our post industrial, rust belt city…but call me crazy if I didn’t see it all as kind of poetic. Magic Sam seems like an interesting person.

        Liked by 1 person

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