When you get tied down on this earth, whether to your body or a lifestyle, it is the way to ruin....

Prince said.

let's put this in perspective.

My neighbors autistic son has no bones.

His father told me this, half drunk and wearing

that pinkish meth face of lenity.

"Like an octopus he only knows two words.

Ink and silence". ( disguise and stars). I declare

that all words are suffused by one's self with

the deep red glow of obligation.

He mouths the grey, painted fence

like the daffodil's and drowns in the sun

spawned boredom of spring. Then out of

nowhere a small dog comes into the yard

then all that ails you turns to urge; the urge

to pick the thing up and ride it across the

universe: The urge to take it by it's

crocus base and set it free.

Reviews

[John]

It sets the mood with great intense until its very last line...

[G. Cedillo]

Holy s**t, you're constantly outdoing yourself - - the speed of these conceits, the simple stark image, the playfulness with words and concept only you have, and all without that same bastardly dog-chase of meaning nipping at our heels -- I can't say what the thing is and I don't want to, but it's more succinct than your other stuff and also more elusive.

"the deep red glow of obligation" - - that is a line to hang your hat on.

the ending, too, is silent awhile before it bursts, and does it explode!

thank you for sharing this

[h d e rushin]

thank you G...it's always a pleasure to have you stop by.......dana

[Bacchus]

i think that is the most creative line I've read on this site
"Like an octopus he only knows two words.
ink and silence."

genius you must be
-Bacchus

[h d e rushin]

thank you my dearest Bacchus for those kind remarks.......dana

[W.k.kortas]

I have, at my very core, a deep (indeed, bordering on the outright paranoid) distrust of occasional poetry. Too often, when someone passes on to the choir invisible, it becomes the time to break out the scorecard and tally up the pluses and minuses. But, goodness me, what you have brought forth here. The opening gambit, borderline mystical with the autistic boy who only knows two words (seemingly disparate, yet connected with the unlikely device of an octopus), is putting the art in artifice. The final five and a half lines are no less brilliant, an inventive exhortation to life and joy. I am trying to tamp down the urge to gush like a schoolgirl over this piece, because it is wholly gush-worthy.

[h d e rushin]

my dear wk.....I forever stand humbly before you...Thanks for the inspiration my friend.....dana