Dawn
Nauseated with the littleness
of city non-living
the savage humdrum
mind grasping splinters
on the surface of nowhere
never sated with
the neck-down delights
all carnal pleasures
I embark on a quest for that
special conifer, the sequoia,
that special flower in the midst
of the impassable thicket
the man who sees man as man.
Many a time with tenderness
I shared a soft pillow with
a hardened, suspicious Death.
Many a time I took Him
by the hand when He felt left
behind, when He felt abandoned.
In the noise of the marketplace
I glanced at Him.
He smiled at me.
Usually.
I dared Him to a jog once
perhaps twice and
with a sardonic laugh
He declined.
With His perennial laughter
He shares with me a non-fat latte
at the neighbourhood Starbucks.
Usually.
Libros Libertad 