Winter 17

 

I remember 

Youth 

Sleeping in the wallpaper 

Head at the foot of the bed

Hi Fi

Sitting inches from 

Where my breath 

Can be seen 

In the cracked window sill

Tapes

Public radio 

Volume on one

Like today’s streaming 

An incomplete cousin 

Replicating 

Unpredictably 

Like the moment 

In print

The taste for memory 

Sits well

On a very hungry tongue 

As overcast January 

Leads you to February 

And this the thickest blood

Of the current year 

Digging for vitality 

In the attic

Scheduling the traditional stew 

For every lunch

With a side

Of oldies

That look young 

So young

To me now

Image above is a close up of My painting “Horses In Fog”

Sometimes you just wanna run around and play loud music like the 17-year-old that you are inside your head… 

x-J