Honey, There Is No Right Way


The road to Dutchman’s breeches
It is never long

Indeed, it is never-never
But imagined

And all the people living for today
Painting pictures with chainsaws

Lifestyles with dreams and
Poetry with swirling plastic

That beautifully spins in Pacific vortex
Nurseries of the more beautiful world

They are the art poised in bulbous underground armies
Like revolutionary cells in the mountains

Ready to lay blanket change to rotting detritus
To glint and glare on the browns, the grays

The passing lasts of winter’s days
In carpets of yellow and dog-tooth smiles

On these frost-heaved roads I travel and trip
O’er these icy ponds I balance and slip


7 thoughts on “Honey, There Is No Right Way”

  1. What a tease – talking of spring flowers ! Your smiling dog turns into a trout in this part of the world. I know of a secret patch right here in the middle of the city. We endure …

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