Abiding Oak

“I cannot say how bad it hurts
not to have you around anymore”



(could anyone make more plaintive of a cry?)
(no, probably not)



days return
like a typewriter carriage



each waiting for the bell;
waiting for the bell to ring out
“I miss you”

mountaintop

hey now

does the world win

in the spice of life

race of grace

for a two-bit shoe shine medal

given for heroic kicks

at a patch of earth beneath your feet?

hey now

if the world could win

we'd never know

what things above

what things below

and the spice of life

face chase

would just hound us 'til we're dead

no way to live

no home, no bread

hey now

the world can't win

as the world might like

as the world might hope

when life has got you on the ropes

but the spice of life

jerky derby

all peppered, kippered

and dried to a twist

to a twist and a wrinkle

(even a pucker)

that jerky derby all spiced of life

(just the rind that truth spits out)

the fatty rind all soap-cake white

all tremble-licious, salty rind

of fat and blood

(don't ever mind)

hey now

did the world win

in the hand-me-down moon race?

patching baling wire and duct tape

patch your craft for outer space?

baling as fast as we can

to keep the waters – the rushing flood

the rushing tide of inner space

at acceptable levels

in your neighborhood

just low enough to keep our ankles wet

and then the world can't win