desolate commie

desolate commie,
up here, with ripples saying hello
and sun. that one star I truly know is one -
setting, saying goodbye.

the things we don’t know.
the things we do fail always,
to weigh like that on our shoulders.
but what throw aways they all become when acquired!
the skirmishes with our own selves
to meet all sorts of measurements
when all that is required is breathing.

desolate commie,
rudely entertained by difference
and yet strangely educated by it all.

black, green, blue.
that’s what you come to know.
black bug crawling across my blue jeans
green canoe hidden by my black shadow
green black blue water finding little comfort – maybe total
by being pushed around by the air
and not from current.

desolate commie,
defense mechanisms abound.
what strife jumping into difficult conversations
and today, somewhat difficult rapids.

lost in other ways or places
always home near heat and basic nourishment.
two sunsets on.
retinas burning like my face, my neck.
the aches of bites that found themselves under my hair.
pelicans floating by like my dad did after capsizing: effortlessly.

what to make of this.
maybe an ant hill.
pull together the pieces,
watch the life grow.