Friday, September 16, 2011

The Nature of Questions



The Nature of Questions

The sun falls silent on a love-overloaded face:
such pale wood is used in the making of furniture.

Oh, baby, won't you go to the post office with me?
We are deeply snared by home and our children's boots.

Roaring blood from the secrets of the heart!
If there's gold, like big nuggets, in our tracks....

And the sunflowers in front of the house
could illuminate all the wrong ways of the fast gun.

Then there's the pause before the leaving.
Like torn denim... or, if you please, saltine crackers.

Well, yes, I am open to a stiff portion of the blame.
We shall not take into account any number of groggeries.

Stagecoach Inn, Seven Seas Waterpark, Sawtooth Suites:
the open door to healing is hourly splashed with blood.

Heartache sunflowers, undressed sunflowers, dizziness
Van Gogh sunflowers: hot damn, I love crash and burn.

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