there’d be none next year
or the next for that matter
after trimmed for cords
roaming their prairies
they were dark rolling thunder
dustclouds shadowed close
portended hide mongers chase
’til future silent ghost herds
it hit me today
have neglected my need
to get out in the middle of nowhere
and spend some quality time with a tree
the muse that lived there
sang with breezy rustles
in the grass and leaves
kinda treezy twang thang
silent salmon creek
slipped into noisy breakers
sand hills drifted near
feeling quite satisfied
after slurping a couple tasty feeshes
she unknowingly caught the eye
of another who Adelle Davis believed
would soon become her.
of countless shapes and
in all colors known they bloom
even from old prints
(this is a linocut print of stylized rendition of a National Geographic photo of bones at pompeii – it struck me)
the music was vesuvius
blowing its top in orchestral crescendo.
sulphuric gas, pumice and molten ash
kept the beat, filled the air.
molten debris, ash and poisonous vapors
engulfed and suffocated all movement.
Herculaneum, Stabiae and Pompeii
buried under tons of volcano music there.
they danced deep long after melody
was as quiet as all last dancers.
their final moves for all time
indelibly etched one when and where.