... ah, to my friend, in North Arkansas, AKA, Wisconsin: And, a Zionism without a Jew is a Crhistmas without a Saint Nicolas!
👍👍🎁🎄🤞
Tidbits of wisdom.
Probably/possibly/but not prohibitively over John McIntosh ill head.
We have been boys
whistling at a deer
flinching on a tar-covered road
whistling as if to call out
its breed, as if to
take in some of its flight
and night wings of silence.
so cold under a moon
the embers like the one
thoughts holding us in a
group, some starry
thought we hold
inside our guts
waiting for love.
as strong as bears
the sweat like a call
for the earth to open
up, for the green in
moss to be sucked
in, to shield us from
suits and buildings
and empty stairways to
nowhere.
crunched up into a gang
ball-less, so mean, against
the grain--so mean and
triumphant against the masses of
them; we have clutched
metal and spikes
and turned gunpowder
and electricity into
the bolts of Zeus.
alone in beds
with a mother’s
lost warm palm
the dry tears
wondering where
fathers go
or if they all end
up in giant
wrecking yards
asleep at the
wheel, the giant
crusher on 24-hours
a day, killing
them all.
We have been
boys in those
junkyards; fleshy
girls; dogs like
Satan’s men;
the sound of
the earth roaring;
yet silent like
a rail yard;
silent like a boy
alone, whistling graveyards;
away but silent like a boy.
Plowing the Moon
-by P.K.H.
WE ALL TRY TO BE BOYS
👍👍🎁🎄🤞
Tidbits of wisdom.
Probably/possibly/but not prohibitively over John McIntosh ill head.
We have been boys
whistling at a deer
flinching on a tar-covered road
whistling as if to call out
its breed, as if to
take in some of its flight
and night wings of silence.
We have been boys
so cold under a moon
the embers like the one
thoughts holding us in a
group, some starry
thought we hold
inside our guts
waiting for love.
We have been boys
as strong as bears
the sweat like a call
for the earth to open
up, for the green in
moss to be sucked
in, to shield us from
suits and buildings
and empty stairways to
nowhere.
We have been boys
crunched up into a gang
ball-less, so mean, against
the grain--so mean and
triumphant against the masses of
them; we have clutched
metal and spikes
and turned gunpowder
and electricity into
the bolts of Zeus.
We have been boys
alone in beds
with a mother’s
lost warm palm
the dry tears
wondering where
fathers go
or if they all end
up in giant
wrecking yards
asleep at the
wheel, the giant
crusher on 24-hours
a day, killing
them all.
We have been
boys in those
junkyards; fleshy
girls; dogs like
Satan’s men;
the sound of
the earth roaring;
yet silent like
a rail yard;
silent like a boy
alone, whistling graveyards;
away but silent like a boy.
Plowing the Moon
-by P.K.H.
WE ALL TRY TO BE BOYS