#2071-- the whimsy

 

2071

6.244

1.ix.25

the whimsy

for the dream book

 

never too young or too old in your dream

 

scale a mountain

meet the gorillas

 

never too far

but the boot won’t connect

net’s full of holes

 

must go

you know it

low growl

 

streets out hunting as if

it’s how the maps remember me

 

bird like a rusty gate

self diagonal with sleep

I stim

 

fetch the spent rhyme

as has served

 

never too rich or poor

the ache is on

but true mind

for impediment press

 

still, storm’s out of body

 

action’s unscripted

a dry night till

but it’s too cold for light

 

a mitts and yet fur fling

 

name’s on the tip of my lip