An hour
listening to the
stories of all plants
growing around the park
oppressive heat and ugly dogs
was a Saga ever so justified with
a privileged audience such as this without
horns of mead, instead of tepid water squeezed?
Late, a freestyle long form screed of how to
make armor in a garage
from my bench, so tedious, so unasked for
so graciously received
your kind of crazy is
a smell I like
but can't name
sandalwood, campfires
minced onions,
lemons
and a little bit of sweat
searching for stars
sitting on a dirty beach
seeing through the clouds
looking good.
"There" you say. pointing an ivory finger
"That's all those trees, spread
by bird poop"
Underneath it, perhaps your inner witch
priestess was telling me
something secret
that sometimes we are surrounded
by mystery and beauty
dropped by dirty circumstance
Omnia Vincit Veritas
I have moved
from tolerance to adoration
of the asshole universe
