no fall like an old fall

while wire-walking across niagara i fell to thinking

 

you know how

if you make yourself some dhal

your teeth will find the one piece of grit

left in those otherwise purified pulses

 

or

 

those same investigative incisors

trap the only piece of gristle

in a steak

as tender as a lover’s thigh

 

that’s because deep down you look for it

 

i guess that’s why reality doesn’t get in the way

in a poem

i can tell how i watched a blackbird this morning

that gleam in his eye

as he pulled a worm

glistening into the sunlight

 

maybe i never left the house

stayed inside while the storm rattled the tiles

i see what i want to see

 

landscapes loves and memories

glide dance and change places

or

take me where i’ve never been

and

laugh with each other on the way back

 

feelings

fantasies

facts

 

i stir the phantom lentils

but

leave a little grit

 

………………………………………..

 

 

 

 

Done