Flugelhand

the icicles shot the webs too long
over canyons into song
and the ride over was way too long
we break icicles to stab our food
engendered our species through tunnels of sand
and the last one was copper panned
shoed in lake horse meridian
just off the handle north east of gone       
and the shoe shorn saddlebags jigger
in the sued ocean blue
where sad handles shake their hips and shoes
before the coffee kettle boils and kachoos
and the valleys laugh that canyon song
shhhhh...and the rocks gurgle
revealing the old spring bed
tempting old towns to unearth
just the wind's laughing mirth
and the trails travel out and in
trials saddlebags and jigger
mirroring myself from the outside in.

Denis Streeter   8/19/13