Sunday, May 18, 2014

Poem: Dealing with Happy

Dealing with Happy

Brilliant portions of rough,
cudgels of foreshadow,
cut my teeth silver,
take me for a walk.

I am not never my own man
but a jackal’s coat passed from
thrift store to foster child to
homeless violinist.

I wish it were better but
sometimes worse. Desperation has a
way of digging up roots,
lifting obsidian to the sun,
incinerating the alarm clock.

Once in a great while I decide to dance.
I have never not once regretted it.

From the collection Fields of Satchmo 
Photo by MJV

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