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Lazy River Blues


by Darryl Price


 

 

Sun bites down on the eager yet pouting lips of the

softly puffed-out moon, but a jealous & runny

cloud interferes with this story line just a little bit: a young

dancing tree washes her gold and green laden locks

nearby in the cold falling winds. It

was as beautiful a day as any

typical treasure found. If things didn't always float they

celebrated those that did. We weren't

being lost or lazy, but we did

channel that energized moment's presence into a 

 

shared life as an ongoing frenetic practice we lived and

released over and over again. This was

our twice connected freedom in real-time as the one action listed above.

And it existed. It just didn't remain

with us forever as we had hoped

it would. Eventually everybody got a good

strong whiff of what they were paying attention

to in their most common senses. Maybe this

triggered something like lingering pungent dreams to

our nearest and dearest friends, but the last ingredient to go inside out

 

is always you or it just simply doesn't catch

in the imagination's secret garden plot for too long before it expires. That's always been

the scariest part. And once the brand

new thing is made with all that heat it

has to be finally released from under

its own roiling definitions. Its fate becomes a

matter of luck and friendship with the still always

rising world, which is deemed pretty fast under any normal

circumstance. Dusk had settled that sleeping issue,

with its usual accidental grin, into a kind of softened yet aware forgiveness.

 

Darryl Price

Thursday, June 06, 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bonus poem:

 

 

Poem for Trayvon

by Darryl Price


 

Think I'll wear my hoodie outside the walls today, you gonna

blow me away, mister? It's nice to know

that some people still fall in love, but that's

not what's wrong with the world. We've become a

box of sand monsters. There is a bigger thing out

there yet. Yeah I'd like to be taken away from

all those big idiots with their puny hands on all those big heavy

guns, but it doesn't have to be that way.

Can't we get anything right? Must we ever

default to the literal books for what we do? Dreamers

are dying off. If you think it doesn't

matter that a kid gets killed for being

a kid then you are the criminal. Dear

God let us not pretend we don't know the

sound of a human being crying. I just want to

sleep, but not the sleep of death, rather the

lost sleep of a thousand years. Let me wake up just about

anywhere else. We've dropped the innocent

ability to feel anything but

how to be above it all. Don't believe in

it? I don't believe in you. It's not the way

it has to be. It's not the truth, not when

you lie in order to get us there. Why can't we see through

so many falling tears? Just throw my loose

anchor overboard. Careful. Careful. We

are the children, too. We're all targets. We are

also in the way. They want us out of

their light. More for them. Less for us obviously. Listen,

Brother. I'm sorry that your memories

are blown to bits by bigots. These things have deeply hurt

us, little friend. It is the weight of the whole

world right now. We were dangerous before, but

now we're the deadliest creatures running around the Milky Way.

But if there's any justice your spirit

will find a way to rise again. Thank you.

It doesn't matter what for. Love you, too, Brother.

   
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