LOOKING FOR THOREAU

 
When I was impenetrable I was perfectly unhappy
And nothing could swerve my dark Minerva
From the precipice of my demise… too beautiful to die young 
with a hole in my Heart
And all the World to play the Fool.
 
Then Reality mumped my turtle.
Dove into my private purpose
like a good wife
With a harsh tongue.
It spoke my Rivers and engaged my agency
To distraction… too poised on a moon of awe
With all my diamonds
Soot in a wound
As wide as the flame
Of my Epitaph.
 
When I was a whale in a pipe
I had my Magritte and krill.
I had my starch and varmints
Peddling stag to unsung parties
And managed to whiff
A connection.
Then Time spoke
To my Animus
And This
 
Happened.
 
I came upon a Knowing in my slippery self deception. 
A coil of sublime rue and adulation
Summing the chemistry of woeful errors
And discreet miseries.
I saw Hope in a bowl of scarecrows
Crucified at crossroads that defy maps
To lost places.
 
While looking for Thoreau.
 
Now I paint sometimes. Winter or Fall.
 
Succumb to glamours beyond my kin
Like an adept in a perilous joy.
 
I engender my fusion.
Proof of concept
Like an old bliss on
a new treadmill.
 
I keep loving everything
Until it's gone
 
Then Follow.