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Weed Whackin’

Today, I’m just a painter;

tasked 


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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