delilah contrapunctal.... yes, that's how I intended to spell it......... Poems

slink
slather....
slosh the floor of the dive...
thanks
...

aura, bent,
pulses
fluctarian,
sputters
...

caws
from
the raw strum
can't tickle the rafterglow...
...

my evening delight
sans ocular assistance
biggest butterflies
ever
...

that red stick....
drifted to a continent's edge...
pledged to ply a vertical
climb and grind
...

in that culture...
something to hide
from the cordoneers
read in the woods
...

to see St. Lawrence's fiery tears
from the hills where the Escorial sits, a monumental and historic presence, somewhat frightening to a child, mysteriously looming, reaching for heaven...stones, alive, seeming to breathe, to sing....
...not this year, we will watch them
instead from the old pony pasture,
...

lived, in surly (albeit confident) repose...
given a less-than-penetrating glance, it could have appeared to be smothering under scraps and spittle....
all the while sharpening its claws
on the slime-smeared inners of the bin...a fact that had gone unnoticed....
...

I'd have to
stay up
all night
to sing
...