Writing sonnets for my beloved
But I cannot speak in pentameters
The lines & sentiment lost on my tongue
Erasing the stray marks upon the parameters
Mother Nature is exhausted
Discovering it’s time to hibernate
Humble beauty of the landscape
Folding into herself unto the infinite
Hearing the last strains of Autumn
But the air is still hot
Clinging to a customary belief
While we hide behind a fig leaf
But we all know leaves fall and rot
Oh, where does our journey end Or begin, as it so often might seem Futile attempts to erase the past The unknown details of our dreams
The open road panders to a false escape The mere opportunity to rewrite a sojourn Jesus perambulating with Uncle Walt Debating the path; perchance to learn
Shaky prospects in apportioned time Manifest destiny teases Ginsburg & Kerouac Further roads leading to ornate wisdom & we keep it concealed out in the back
Thoreau mocking society with his solitude Knowing alone is the greatest we could ever be Thoughts come to us in gentle waves That perhaps our visions should become the sea
A reinterpretation of westward expansion Route 66 cross-contaminating Highway 61 All roads have never led us home Emily tempting Death with her life left undone
The growing wisdom of our consumed space Emerson’s penning pre-revolutionary blues Introducing our souls to unrefined grace The Good Lord providing Her unfiltered muse
Feeble humanity; lost across the tracks Original sin that we’ve taken on the chin Sifting thought; we might be welcomed again But knock off the Devil’s dust before you come in
Lounging early in the morning She wore an animal print I couldn’t recall I poured another cup to erase the cobwebs A chilly morning; slipping past Fall
She was sleek & beautiful, a deadly shade Overly dramatic in the best possible sense Passion in abundance for my sole benefit Edging to a climax at our soul’s expense
Girls with their knee-highs
Haute Couture, exposed at the side
But don’t believe everything you see
Smashed & forgotten; a murdered bride
Money left on the nightstand
A life shouldn’t be thrown away for such
Summer comes to erase memories
But down here, it doesn’t take much
She was already cast out, with her upturned jugs
A novelty for these professional suited men
They’ve wiped away (ass-print) the glass
Like she never happened, what will you do then?