Sunday, March 14, 2010

A Maze On Graph Paper

Don’t with your heart
you will find me too replete
to go home, so
make new
a tilled smell
that answers some junky sky,
jagged like an oyster shell.

Don’t with your rolling smile,
or answer. I try nonchalance
but secretly study each exit
pleading for an entrance.

In a room
with penned in clatters, curses,
and billows of drunk,
this tent of quiet
over my eyes:
extol patience
beg forgiveness
finish my beer.

something has happened.

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