His ears, a the back of his head.
His hair, a the back of his face.
His smile, a the curve of his mouth
round found mouth
I am watching him
Climbing over a porch
whistling, the julep in juniper
and he’s an improper servant of the law
I’m served the sentences that played a your lips,
with my own free mind.
Climbing over the tree,
he is an immortal messenger of the law,
I am a pleading to the witness to your eyes
on my own free mind.,
and I am staring at the watch,
slipping through the cool dew
with ice blue pools,
and the rules of life and of lying
rules of smiling and dying
pairs of x and y
inwardly wise, not without the contradictions,
in sprawling grass,
his smile, o the curve of his mouth; alkalinity
and the maze of dust left on the post, the
way the air brushes over the everywhere,
just being strung along and along.
Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry