tread softly down the stairs
don’t make a sound
he’ll find you if you do
and you wouldn’t want that
(although you would).
how low athena
and her winged companion goddess
have been brought.
down to shoe-level, actually.
i definitely smell petrol.
where’s it hiding on me?
a tea-totaller —
green tea permeates our lives now.
it’s even in my toothpaste.
time was that there they crafted
marble monuments for
the glorious dead.
now it’s just barely
the nice side of a greasy spoon
in a one stoplight town.
and i thought i wrote novels
when i wrote letters.
how much is too much
to say about life and observations?
beards are funny.
swallows fly into the
flaming raspberry sky.
this ain’t no
louisiana sunday afternoon.
rather a frigid kansas morning
too early for decent nightowls
to be awake.
the sunrise makes up for it.
i want to run barefoot
through the green grass.
too bad it’s dead.
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