When Wisdom Grew a Beard on Fickle Trees

when wisdom grew a beard on fickle trees

in woods of shaded argument

melancholy holly leaves on abandoned pastures old

on circus dust where juggles the succulent taste of liver stooping low;

countless waves of squandered paragraphs

between pages where rages the assassins flute of chance

sings the eyes of the bottled and battered sheepskin spy

in the slipstream of the grounded metaphor

in triumphant march with hares above the landfilled mass

swells the melted ice of the dragonflys' bastard child;

through hives of tainted chives with tortured chicken wire

with funeral food for the confounding pounding on deaths open door

still we wait for the blossoming bride in her pumkin dress and something borrowed blue;

aborted gods in packets of assorted imperial arms

charms the father of the farming kettledrums wayward poltergeist.

a heist for the apple of adams love for the punctured pictured lawn

a seagull each for the duelling nostrils for the heart of early dawn;

when wisdom grew a beard on fickle trees

in woods of shaded argument

we tiptoed with our horses feet through the skull of hercules;