Ahead Behind No More

Watching the baby finally fall asleep
listening to out-of-date and imperative chorus
smelling the salty rain come from the west
mumbling, oh my oh my.

Honey bees and friendly frogs in flight
from how we are turning their day to night
snare drums tolling tiny spirits into paradise
choir singing, rise, rise, rise.

A couple on a blanket under birds flying
in circles get uncomfortable in the park trying
to find or make a place for their liveliness
in a world that says, no no no.

What were we doing when the dark darkened
winter like a white horse beyond human
control heading down some invisible canyon
whinnying, who is responsible?

With the sprinklers on on a rainy day
and conversationalists pinching their lives away
I pick up the phone with nothing to say
other than, why why why.

Brothers, sisters and spectres queued up for light
debriefing after a long shift of straightening out
the fractured ramifications that the living meant
to say to each other before it didn’t matter.

The lamp on the porch glowing for no reason
ended up marking our change of season
spring no more summer untied out of patience
crops calling, me me me.

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
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