It’s Delicate Business

February 28, 2010

It’s a damned near full moon

It’s clear,  a bracing

evening.  I’ll exhale out

to trace the treeline  off

to a nothing northern florida town.

She sat at a flea market

where tons of townies in camouflage jackets

pressed past her at her table and chair.

Her pronounced pretty eyes

were the ideal quirk for gypsy fortune tell work.

Green, like beach glass.

How might they see me?

How can she be expected to espouse

All Ahead  for me  there?

At that table & chair there, exposed

to that flea market crowd?

Men, off to gun tables.

Women, drawn up the way

where puppies are given away

(hunting dogs no doubt)

How Soul-intimate can my gypsy and I get?

Can she pull out

All that’s in

In all of this dumbed down din?

It’s delicate business…

There’s this inarticulate air here

Against which…without a hitch..

.I want to wonder over every word..

I want to wonder for every prophetic word.

How can we do this with clothes on? Absurd.

                                          .

I can see, by the chance

of this damned near full moon,

I’ll watch the line of my breath dance

just off the distant treeline,

Off to tomorrow’s full sun soon.

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3 Responses to “It’s Delicate Business”

  1. slpmartin said

    Excellent story…just love the flow of the lines and the image you create with your words.

  2. “wonder for every phrophetic word”
    sounds like there is soooo much to say and yet so much is left unsaid …i like the wondering

  3. Lines 29 & 30 make such a nice little couplet/surprise.
    I imagine the ghosts of Eliot and Neruda walking through those lines.

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