All that was in yesternight
enclosed and clenched within belly blossom hunch
in morning bright flew out rustling pigeon wings.
All kept tightly wrapped within
this silver purse, her gold strings tinselled out
and rubbing off onto your soft lenten hands–
cannot stay behind the swirling billowing fibs.
Not any longer. OK?
We wooshed and we gooshed, we twirled and we turned.
We spun and we kicked, we hazzahed and we hahaed
up and down the white stone alley ways.
But now our bikes are lying on the lawn
and we’ve settled into drifting couches
coarse in their cut and dusty up close.
We knew and we thought we’d think while we fought.
We dreamed and we drifted, our work a sifting out,
and now the angels pour down and surge up,
tackling us from all sides, and channeling us down
into the cold waters where we once played the clown.
You know who I am and we know where we are.
So let’s not pretend anymore.
Author: Mulligan Stew
“What is this?”: AMW