Sunday, November 27, 2011


Walkin’ thru the woods
Lookin’ at fallen trees &
Dislocated limbs & old
Scrub as if I was walkin’
Down the hallowed hall
Ways & alleyways of a
Museum the rich patinas
Of weather & age ‘midst
The music of birds & the
Raspy whisper of fragile
Leaves bein’ blown about
With nary a ‘do not touch’
Sign nor gibberish docent
Found amongst the lot
Hell I could even step be
Hind the nearest bush &
Take a piss try doin’ that
In a natural history


No comments:

Post a Comment