fulmah
11-24-2004, 09:50 PM
another day in the garden of revelation
with secrets strewn in the gravel path,
waiting to be kicked by shuffling feet
and lost in the dark under the hedge row.
gut-rating rises on gentle hammock’s rock,
breaking cerebral diary’s unbreakable lock,
like in 6th grade when I gave dorothy
that scratch and sniff valentines card;
she said thank you, she didn’t mean it,
the learning surfaced pronto and savvy.
twenty years blitzed to modern era,
now I’m bigger bones, muscled and yeah,
dorothy is still around, living downtown
in the high class brownstone town homes.
I see her sometimes on the way to work
carrying her cream cheese bagel and coffee
walking the sidewalk in her red ruby slippers
primed to excuses causing clicked heels;
one two three, there’s no place like home
there’s no place like home.
poor, timid thing…
ex’s only impart apprehension
diverting the unknown to a foreboding flinch
only rebounded from in familiar backdrop.
there’s no garden in her backyard, though,
just a deck, a fence, and crab apple trees.
horticulture hums silent songs for her,
stroking revival’s lotion
onto retuned mind.
with secrets strewn in the gravel path,
waiting to be kicked by shuffling feet
and lost in the dark under the hedge row.
gut-rating rises on gentle hammock’s rock,
breaking cerebral diary’s unbreakable lock,
like in 6th grade when I gave dorothy
that scratch and sniff valentines card;
she said thank you, she didn’t mean it,
the learning surfaced pronto and savvy.
twenty years blitzed to modern era,
now I’m bigger bones, muscled and yeah,
dorothy is still around, living downtown
in the high class brownstone town homes.
I see her sometimes on the way to work
carrying her cream cheese bagel and coffee
walking the sidewalk in her red ruby slippers
primed to excuses causing clicked heels;
one two three, there’s no place like home
there’s no place like home.
poor, timid thing…
ex’s only impart apprehension
diverting the unknown to a foreboding flinch
only rebounded from in familiar backdrop.
there’s no garden in her backyard, though,
just a deck, a fence, and crab apple trees.
horticulture hums silent songs for her,
stroking revival’s lotion
onto retuned mind.