she sits on the front porch
watching grass perform a sexy dance
colors shift with the demise of today's sun
behind slippery wax paper clouds
she is tired, weary
she is thinking of burrowing six feet, maybe more
it's not the first time, she knows, but. . . she thinks about it anyway
rest, deep sanctioned rest beneath cool breezes and damp
Jolted by electric prophets and well meaning friends
"what are you drinking?'
Pure evil Buddy-Row, Pure evil
bottomless wine glass overflows
forget about Mary's place Joe
she's too tired
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3 comments:
i am not exactly sure where this poem leaves me off... but i know i enjoyed getting there... if that makes any sese what so ever....
I feel that way just about every time I have the option to do something that doesn't involve staying at home: too tired, too tired...
sexy grass dance. that's good.
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