Feb. 19th, 2007

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

the thing we want does not lack grace
it keeps us going for a long while
some answer's written on each face

not for our sort the sense of place
what matters more is sense of style
the thing we want does not lack grace

when we each of our options trace
it's hard to separate from the pile
some answer's written in each face

the prize is always worth the chase
there's no response that has no guile
the thing we want does not lack grace

what's most desired we must embrace
we're nothing if not versatile
some answer's written in each face

though we obtain our needed space
only by journeying many a long mile
the thing we want does not lack grace
some answer's written in each face

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

far easier than to love it is to hate
the stranger with the funny look
the one whose nose is like a hook
who let these fellows through the gate
who told them gay was good as straight
the ones with noses in their book
the ones who like to drink and cook
they should not be part of our fate
and so we pass these fellows by
we do not ask what's in each heart
we do not really want to know
we've told ourselves the easy lie
we've ignored every human part
nothing of decency will we show

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

the time has come to speak of what is not
to talk about the things that will not be
discuss the shores of the imagined sea
and speak of the exigent nonexistent plot
fit no tab into what's just a notional slot
refuse to count either thought or silence free
dig for no rounds around the non-world tree
to all your tasks no sum of time allot
that which is there is not there at the last
the present does not have an ounce of being
speak of the future it will never come
and nothing matter's once it's in the past
what's seen will not be measured by the seeing
and no beat comes from the imagined drum

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

sunset in winter
bare branches grasp cold blue sky
cannot hold the light

clouds puffy serene
tell lies about the season
sun has no warming

waiting for students
the light tells me sad stories
nightfall must happen

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fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
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