- Books, Literature, and Writing
The Law (9/13/11)
Walking now but with such repose
The geraniums peck at the door of my conscience
And it feels like a cold shower
On my eyes—they’re so hurtful to the blues
It’s like punching the flu.
Ideas ride my head in delicate waves
Breaking on Asian shores;
But the sidewalk plunks to my tread—
Caning the wild from my step
As things do.
Still my gait is dauntless
Because I’ve perfected the trip
With time, and faith, and compass
Like a hunt on the way—
A true passion for scouting the brush
While I can still take a nude breath
When money is the wind
And we barter for every kind of god
On a planet that sweats hell.
There’s a limitless that’s highly contagious;
And I’ve seen you sneaking your soul
Across cordons of grace with a pang of guilt—
It isn’t law or necessary.
I intend to shake that presidency
With a fire that speaks with blue flame.
Hope sped so far from the cradle
That nature is the jet in my dive—
We falcons kill what’s under to breathe.
Its currency is white ether—
Sound as lame as a pantomime—
Insight’s just a comet to the sun;
Humble as a monk.
No one can touch its weathers…
Only by reaching with stretched fingers
Can I dream the relish of its weight.
An ounce of its intangible busts
Its answers with questions that we chase like dogs—
I’m charged for its true meeting
Because I can’t break a trust
That came to me without Nature’s tell.
Imagination sips the cool and mathematical
Lollygagging so well;
And as I walk a lovely woman pauses
With an eye and a sell—
And that’s just gravity.
--Mike Head (9/13/11)