February: Year-day 39

           
                                        
                                         
February: Year-day 39

Listening to Ron's invisible guitar
and Mark's laughter as he bruises the wind,
no wonder I wonder whose dreams we are
where the crowds have thickened, the crowds have thinned.
No wonder kings in their perma-press suits
have nothing to do with people in rags
as the poets playing their lyres and lutes
look absently at the costs of their tags.

No wonder we wonder wonder through tears
while winds roll & whisp and whistle their songs
and the various guitars talk and chime
to the voids in our stomachs brought by years
too easily stuffed with "impossible" wrongs
that have slashed, jumbled, and corroded time.

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