FOR PB’S BUILDING POETRY EXERCISE #2
A proper walk requires a red flannel shirt.
The colour of iron rust. Or a strawberry stain.
My feet scuff through autumn leaves.
My shoes lift dust from dust.
Old Myths and a Long Thirst
And it’s a lie that a pebble
quenches thirst. Tie a goat
to a post in the rain –
and it’ll die of thirst.
I want a cat the colour of carrots.
I’ll name it Oklahoma
because no one names a cat that.
My secrets sank into a silty lake.
Into the ebony deep, along with memories,
and a peripheral twinge of heartache
that I mistook for reflux.
Two squirrels race around the garden.
It’s a full moon. It’s insanity
on legs with hyped up tails.
Wind embraced the corn, then blew it down.
I am weather, said the wind.
Rain on the lake writes its own song.
And then the one became the other.
I am an annual flower going to seed.
I am in the wrong place,
saying wrong words,
and I think I might be a weed.
Bless the ego of sky-blue cornflowers.
They linger, perpetual in my thoughts
PB’s Exercise #2
©️ Misky 2019