Saturday, February 21, 2009

I wish I could buy this place and level it
disk it into a grain field, new blades of winter wheat

I'd know just how to do it too--a big CAT
one of those newer ones, with a CD player in the cab

I'd listen to Coltraine, Davis, Monk and
wouldn't cry a tear for the buildings, no not a tear

gone would be the shopping carts and broken pools
the myriad signs pleading for someone to buy

no, it'd be earth, and wheat and nothing, nothing.
'cept maybe a small place, mine and hers, buffered

by the blades and the sky and the earth around
impacted walls, radiant heat, the stars and the sky

I'd still let the jazz play on, never'd stop it actually
instead the notes'd fly and mingle, twisting like rabbits

I can nearly taste the vision with something akin to longing
that cobweb of thought breaking across my face in near darkness

The wheat, the sky, Coltraine, the CAT, the walls, the stars
and you. Oh how I'd paint you, but to stay, never to leave.


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