Cool breeze
rushes through rooms,
pushing heat back
through the walls.
===
Though I have nothing to say, I want to say it well.
===
He wrote
with his finger
on the wind.
===
Alert
to the possibility
of sleep.
===
Cicada
song of desire
drowns all thought.
===
Cicada
clings to my shirt
and sings.
===
Madness finds me without a forwarding address.
===
Dark night
I trace
your outline
===
My muse
bound,
reduced
to blinking eyelids
in code.
===
By talking
in the back yard
he fertilized it.
===
Peace.
Surrendering sorrows
and surrendering hope
both accomplish
the goal.
===
He promises the moon, then moons you.
===
The ancestors
mutter in their beer
bored at watching
us repeat
their mistakes.
Loved all of those, Matt. You know how to paint a picture with so few words!
Howdy Matt. I just found your blog. I like what I’ve read so far.
now i wanna try to write with my finger on the wind…how’s your muse matt…? smiles
This thing of writing with one’s fingers is powerful to me. I like touching things, I find hands curious and interesting.
=*