Mostly I Want to be Walking

by Darryl Price

by myself next to just one wide-eyed moment of wild blued out ocean.

You know the one I mean. I don't want

to have to speak to you, or even- alone- to myself.

I'd like to be left inside

the poem it makes me feel without

having to get up and pee every five minutes,too. If you don't mind,Mister or Mrs.  Universe.

That's a poor metaphor I know. Just let

me be an invisible part

of the color of the sunshine,

the rocks, the guttural gulls,whatever

else paints the next wet sunrise onto the brand new 

daily canvas at hand. Sometimes I want

you there with me. It's that simple I'd like to think so anyway.

No surprises there. You're a physical  

presence lately and an intense

one. So your own poem would

probably have to go south with

you in the end. If any two

people are somehow born lucky

enough they can fit their new words

for each other together and

make a lasting sentence of incredible

meaning. Here, the home

of now, which I can certainly

appreciate I can tell you

is not quite near enough to that

salt for me but it will have to

do for the lick. I'm an old dreamer by now.

What did I tell you about that saying? But if I did  

have to choose I'd choose to live among

a tribe of trees first. Nothing

makes more sense to me than a fine

specimen of that living tree essence.

Give me a hug, a kiss, a quiet

sign that love is manifesting

its spell all over again,  

all are dignified next to some

healthy bark. I've never felt the

need to travel too far outside 

of my latest home base because of the many

rare clouds I mostly get to see from out of 

my own free head space. They are all just so spectacularly

thrilling to listen

to as they grumble about, near as all get out. They're  

like these huge building block like monuments

to all earthly forms of life that

can go somehow missing right in

the middle of the bump and grind

or sometimes build and build until

they burst like soggy pinatas.

You don't always notice the construction

going on until you

become aware of the light and

shadow on the ground splashed around

like little scattered rabbits at

your feet,which by the way are sweet

to behold. So here is that shell

I promised you. And that song inside of

its canal. Your bottled note,my dear.