Windjammer

Summer bells at the crossroad Charcoal smells in the air Children scuttle with their claws stretched Empty pockets, cluttered mouths Restless limbs of an ash tree Swatting every crab apple aimed for the street Where a scrawny traffic dodger springs D

Pure shapes race around the house Green thumbs left behind There's glee between the cherry tree chops At night while the master dines We lie awake 'Til the humor runs dry Tiptoe to the high dive Climb for what seems like a mile Make like a pencil and

Ain't it getting a little late for your roundabout ways I've worn the prints from my hands Drips become drops, and drops become stains If you don't clean 'em up, clean 'em up right away In the living room corner thinking, oh Lord It's been over seven

I'll curse you with the same mouth that loved you And admittedly I'll feel a little strange Time and time again it's the same, it's the same A welcome mat with letters gone gray Drawin' borders after you've crossed them A coward's way of taking a sta

Boring stage in the bark that I've built up The vermin parade with the rain Stones afoot, it's a twin city toss I'm wilting with guilt but I'm safe Dormant chalk and smoldering daylight Bring fantasy getaways Seaward trips where I cast out my deadlin

My fingertips are tapping on a hefty stack of papers sitting Stamped and sorted carefully, all ready to be sent Sonnets, prose, and charming odes to ennui-laden scribbles so Affected by the rain or lack thereof that fell today I'm waiting patiently f

The haze of coffin nails and the scent of liquid nerve Swirl through the vacant garden rows The verb coils warm as the check, check, checker Reigns in his ersatz troubadour clothes The ivory is stale as the company Chestnut roots and fifths bled dry