Wasted time

Dusting the morning spells aways
Fields grew rivers and swells grew oceans
Under the carts that bend and sway
Traveling sunlit roofs gathering shadows
And the moon bent its suspenders up
Too soon for the rugs and pastures
One lie leading to the next, or was it fancy
Clocks ticking when you aren't in
The way knives dress coroners half asleep
Through window panes and onion shaped doors
Enough to cry through rabbit holes
Until the dust cleared and the tadpoles stayed
Sense changing each day like real life
Under some core of your wandering
Trees wave pocket books of dust
You get out your check book and wave
It doesn't make sense. Never did.
But somehow you feel in your element
A lightness in your gait beyond explanation
Was creating opposites always so natural for you
I sat under my chair to cry, but the legs were holding me up
Toothpaste and lemon juice setting up cheer
Where the last of the ladles lay
I tried to put them on, but they didn't fit
Washed them and they fit perfectly
But the clocks were running fast. I lassoed one in.
Time struggled so I released
Realizing this game I was playing
Wasn't going to end
It was beginning.

Denis Streeter 2/27/12