On the way home from art
last night,
I gave my body to
a ghost of summer gone
revolving legs over pedals
my meditation.
aluminum spokes rinse
in a minimal orange light
standards row on row
in rigid banana pattern
with no rifles.
Dervish shadows contest
for my attention
swirling elliptically
in repetition
eyes gyroscopic in their sockets
the autism I don't have is soothed.
my shorn throat closes over
the mist descending
on the night.
lung vapours exhale
remind me Fall is alive.
So I kiss him with my naked lips
and we ride for tears out
the corners of my eyes.
Abbotsford's byways go to bed
at nine and awake to tradesmen diesels
plowing fog at five - thirty.
canvas chore coats
fend off the new chill.
all our after work
summer beer is swigged
beach tanning baked
marshmallows charred
trampoline trashed
weddings danced
garden parties laughed.
all our night windows have been left opened.
now it's close the sliding glass door before bed.
The long rain has been
brooding for days.
Feel it.
It hangs.
It might spit a little
like a four year old
on her birthday cake.
Beginning endearing,
but soon the pricklies
in a waking limb.
it's too late.
the precious few dozens
of your last summer hours
to suck the Sun's marrow
are gone.
Face it.
warm light felt you all over,
the soul rises with the corners
of our mouths.
But soon its fenders on your bicycle
or a squirrel tail of brown spots
up your back.
jogging pants grey in
skies suspended over
cast concrete slabs
there's no dew in my work boots
left on the deck overnight.
thick quilts lolligag overhead
keep warm and dry the dawn air.
Our neighborhood needs a rinse.
to wash away stray cocaine pebbles
weeping in the gutters
and draw 10W30 rainbows
from the visitor parking stalls.
I awoke falling in love
and leaves
of our vine maple - God's spittoon.
Open the bedside window
Good morning mist.
Comments (2)
now what a perfectly dark and reminicent tale of a-town this is. we love reading your art, and wish we could participate in it more often.
k (and j)
Wonderful.