Here’s this:

What Can You Do But Quiet The Waves

I’ve been there in the wretched workplace, I’ve meant to meet you there. Here comes trouble with or without recognition, here comes the big trouble of our waves into the lakeshore, and here come the kisses that irritate the dead, here comes trouble.

Here come the kisses of each rugged moment, here comes trouble. Here comes the rugged sailors that I can’t help. Here comes trouble in the big Koocanusa, When will our money be made of fire agate, when will our dust be made of trill? Dank, nervous, and harplike, growing strong in big moments against the glass, wont you listen bent upside down against the glass, hear the weak pulsing against the glass, be seconds alive in the sun, let go, never have it, this blood world, give up those seconds of grace. Crunching in the blood world, don’t you know when to stop? From big lesson in the spider-hole, large learning from the web, show me in words, anything that moved, show me the big hawks and small snacks,   Flip anything and all things that seemed big and then got small and poopish and drunk, flip upside down and learn to love the fiip.  Here is the move that puts you to bed, get ready to sleep hardfast and urgent, there’s what is left then.

I got nothing but big quiet waves, nothing but the sleeptime waves that reach out far and come back in, here come back to the song of now. Come here to where we want all want you, wrapped in that blue, blue blanket. Wrapped right up.

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Huh. A morning poem. Makes no sense. That’s okay. Happy Friday, people! Tonight I travel to a wedding, and I’m not sure what the poem situation will be, because we will be camping again. Camping my new favorite poemcrastination.

 

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