Thursday, October 15, 2015


Hark!—the familiar tin-

of hungry 
chattering autumn teeth,

as once again, some fantastic daredevil
vagabond inside you—

so restless 
to uncover nothing less than the wind's 

most wild and rippling
and uncredited sources of motivation—goes

catapulting outwards,
clamoring—Contact! and then rocketing

and heedless through incautious weathers—

over drenched morning hills, beyond weird
desiccated evenings

and their leafy shadows 
of all those poor souls withering

so slight 
behind the constrictive poverty of their windowsills.

And not chattering
out of nerves—

for not at all nervous
to get places,

but—quite anxious 
to find them.