Monday, May 24, 2010




the old fountaingrove winery

Hear those stinging nettles, they're arresting my legs.
Some caw or call arises from across unfamiliar terrain. And
I'd really like to be every thing in this old place,
But I know I'm not.

Sometimes my mind slips backward into fog
And I feel a dreamy half-sleep coming along.
But here awake, just watching the roots entangled,
The goings-on, I am frailty present.

And if I have briefly wondered for a moment
If I had a prayer,
I have remembered all those hundred nights
I leaned on--

And I do, despite all dense brush, communicate my song
Be it brazen or direct
I just keep singing all day long.

Because I'll never be defeated by those hindered by trespassing signs.
Those who idolize restraint as if it's the only way to be strong,

When there is licorice to pick like moss and chew
Who would deny such a thing; not I.



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