43 Readings

Weed Whackin’

Today, I’m just a painter;


to see.  As if

this could bring forth being - 

find, stop, invoke time,

like my California childhood,

or the way sunlight

through a temperate day

‘cross his amber skin, now,

does.  Today, I’m just a musician;

consoling a moment

for what eternity

won’t be haggled down

for.  Today, I’m just a gardner;

drinking blueberry beer,

and talking to termites,

giving them

my best lesson

in weed whackin’,

and ethnobotany.

COVID is still burning,

capitalism is falling,

the cicadas are coming.

The roses

out front   

look best beat up

against a splotched, rolling sky.

Mornings deserve

music.  Always, I will be your father,

chasing down the love

we cannot conquer.

Posted 05/14/21
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