Not So Much

    I evaded capture today
    with only a handful of dust
    to escape that Old Sandman Death.

    Certainly, those maroon berries,
    so large & luscious,
    crowded on their fat stems
    had something to do with it
    as did the ground fog
    leaving its burrow as so many boll-weevils
    their crowded nests.

    And there might be something to the fact
    the moonlight sat
    fat & confidant in the night sky
    as surely
    as my head rests on this pillow
    and the poem invites itself
    into my lair of thoughts,
    much as nestlings charge the
    entrance to the runway
    of a tree.

    I walked flat out
    in an instance
    as standing urine
    held its own stench
    and the grim splash within the pond
    dead center in the wilderness
    underscores the tone of this warning.

    One thought encapsulates wonder
    though suggestive evil hides
    leaden leaves buried in lake mud
    down the corner eaves of someone's
    fire hydrant mind.
    When you pray for someone
    an Angel sits on their shoulder,
    when that same someone hates you
    does that Angel die of grief?

    Serendipity is a flower
    and those clouds
    re-arranging the breeze
    harbingers of forbidden things
    not so much like these boulders
    use hand-held scissors to open twilight
    and watch this fading light ebb forth
    tip-I-toe like a bird
    squeezed thru an opening
    in its cage.