Spiraling greenbacks grate
across an agitated colonial boneyard

in premature outbursts.
I debate crossing the pliable skin

of superpatriot Mary Sunshine.
About to be buried

who whistles upon the choppers
of a startled bass viol?

Tidal flats surround a demure
mouthful of orthodontic jinxes

laboring under false expectations.
“I doe take to my sselfe the land where on

the Stone howse Standeth with one
Rod in bredth, from the uper End
of the stone howse,

on both sids the howse and land above said, is
given and apointed for frinds in the minestrey …

I say for there use that thay may be
Entertained therein,
in all times to Come Even for Ever.”

We support another town’s spaghetti supper
while a hurricane skirts the coastline.

Twilight chill invites wide-eyed clarity
or a veiling fog. Take your pick.

Do you hear thumping
in the orange and red fringes

of green forest? Some habits
play out better than others.

To continue, click here.
Copyright 2015
Poem originally appeared in Nimble Spirit


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