Of Fools Poem by Walter Burns

If smiles must lead to dust
softly, beginnings,
do not touch
the moment I kiss,
winter arrives
drive around daisy drive.

paintings
of windows,
of dreams,
of fools,
symbols crashing
monkey teeth wind
the spiral is void
placed on a stick
whisper child,
set the world spinning

garden of upward
poet is standing
reciting a sunset
into the sky
unbinding the wilt
of lilt, of fire
arrive as a verse,
swooning the Spring

poet whose fingers
gather the strings
child upon page
scribbling terse
cannot cast
his crayons away
essence is gathered
as it is found

pretty gone trimmings
of Sodom’s decay
crayon shavings,
both colored and none
swept to the floor
like and both as
if smiles must lead,
truly, to dust
then smile again,
duly, I must