with iPod, stuff, to keep me warm, and comfortable.
...And count it! I’m back, sign the alarm, ring the bells
Half past twelve by my sight - right, I left 10 ‘til 10.
How do to start on what was done? Write a story about it,
recreate an experience in song proportions, on-the-go, glorious long-living poetry. It is not right to be read on page! Best conveyed not through words. 'Tis real poetry, that, real genius, if ya figure it out.
I was writing my own song with the fall leaves at my feet – how'd it go again and what was my beat?
~~~~~~
Crunch crunch, step
Zzd- zd-zd – ZD ZD (says the bluejeans)
Step-crunch, step-crush (says my soles)
Whhhhssshhhhh ~ ssshhoooo (says the wind).
Then words
they just came to me
but I cannot recall them now.
They fled through my head like the passing of the wind.
~~~~~~
Ah!! I need to hear the leaves ruffle to remember! I have to listen to the trees, listen to what they say.
Listen and let the words carry you away...
What is this poetry? You prod,
What is this oddness, this rhyme!
It fill me with glee, with trueness in mind
and still I, putter on
Pit-patter, feet so free -- havin’ a hell of a time
I jam on high, above foot-stones, tellin’ this story of mine.
Or you may admit to a sneeze and say, “Ah-Seuss!” “God bless-” “Pardon me!!!”
So rarely do I do things like that just so freely!
Out of my character, my monster face -- Doesn’t fit on the page!
How could I have committed this outrage?
But there’s nothing to fight.
You made up this war.
And have you forgotten who you’re livin’ for?
Well I thought there was a goddamn war.
Guess what? All talk.
And ain't it one crazy story, all of it, that gets you nowhere in no place
Just back to where you started, after your return from your brisk autumn pace.
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