Rising like a dough boy
and noticing somewhere buried
inside is a gumby joint that aches
from traipsing through slightly crusted over
snow drifts of my mind.
The type of drift that kindly takes
the full weight of me
then collapses and sinks
ice crystals into sloppy snow boots.
All the while carrying
a heavy load of semi-precious
objects that really mean nothing.
And when you think of things,
an object that infiltrates a mindset
I’m learning to object
and set thoughts on humanity.
That which was stolen,
each silly possession that
by handcuffing finances
and seeping sordid worry into peaceful mind,
or taxed muscles to secure
firing painful impulses in troubled brain
disturbed my mood and
stole the comradery between friends
and future friends.
Here’s to a future of good feelings
and few real things
(With gratitude extended to Laurent Perren for the photo)