untrue blue

my German friends cycling in New Zealand describe the mountains that won the “beauty prize” as being untrue blue
and the rivers as being untrue blue

the old blind man who everyone avoids for being nuts
calls me by name
and ignores laughter of others
as he whispers lyrics from his own songs
that come out in the sound of brilliant slam poetry: angry, forceful, beautiful
he doesn’t see me
but hears me—
the one
and only

birds sing at night as the snow melts and the stars undress

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s