Back into the barrel he goes
that wan man with spectral woes
his spewed words lying on the cold ground,
oozing. at the very least
you shining with pinned stars
are most improbable
with wingtips
and looks from serenades
the strings all tangled
up in the reaches of the colonnade
the stage littered with pamphlets
and still you awaken
with broken shoestrings
and toppled lemonade
as if all was just as it should be
leaning on a lampost
change in your pocket
You being you for the longest time
even when you looked inside
the barrel.
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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like shooting for apples and missing. or is fish or man or beast.. but we all have loose change and odd bits of paper in our pockets, that remind us of where and why ...
maybe if you look up the rows of trees and see the wind whistle down, you can wake up to the sounds...
it's all in the lemonade - it has fizz
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This is very pretty Mr Lute and sad as well. You make this almost like a dance of words the way the stanza's roll. Sometimes we have it all if we don't ask for too much and other times life is empty, all depends on how you look at a cliche glass...half full or half empty.
I so enjoy wandering through your words.
C
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