A man takes a bead on life.
He sights down the gun barrel of desire. Sometimes the wanting gets in the way of the having. We poke out our own eyes.
Blue jay and goose and chattering sparrows. The birds have plenty to say. The sky has plenty of grey. The morning is cold enough to make us think "Snow, oh no!" Quiet things bow their heads.
In the country I see that the cloud cover has been slashed open in a great sweep. The cold is a slap. The coming cold is a wet rag on our days.
"He sights down the gun barrel of desire. Sometimes the wanting gets in the way of the having. We poke out our own eyes."
Whew. Got powder burns on my cheeks from that one. Glad you're here, glad I stopped by.
Posted by: Lori Witzel | October 06, 2007 at 09:45 AM
Thanks, Lori. Sorry about the powder burns. Maybe I should put in a notice to handle these words with care! :)
Posted by: Tom Montag | October 07, 2007 at 10:38 AM