“That Message Comes Too Late”


“That Message Comes Too Late”

That message comes too late; the box long placed in escrow rusted
From disuse, and I with lungs too aged to bear perfumes and polish;
Meretricious meddling as grace notes in the prism admonish
All the senses, blur the lines of intuition but with gears so rarely dusted
The damn thing keeps on running just the same–behold! it
Must devour distraction, shed its excess in deflected rhyme
And, while the lotus blossom blooms but once, for a time
No one’s close enough to close in for the kill. I know it’s
Hour has come. I prefer to walk and leave the seasons
on the broken highway line.
The forced march rides blisters here and there

But these are welcome and with the sea breeze on the stairs,
The fields, the feel of billowing folds of shirt and pantaloons with brine
Scent heavy in the air, I follow sentinels, ambers of my memory like rocks
Strewn about the stream until I reach the shore I see. I pray
I cannot hear you now and as the Ocean lies before me friends,
I’ve little more to say.


…paintings by Andy Denzler…


2 responses to ““That Message Comes Too Late”

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