Pappus

Life expressed in anemochorous drift

A mere consequence of wind

and sift

Dare I say dreams

pushing the lofty calyxian shift

Ever lighter

Swirling higher

in selective success

Where a quiver of a pull

off the quill of a stem

Breaks into a spin

And in the rising

Matter transcends gravity

gaily

It journeys effortless

On the invisible stream

That bears hotly and gustily

Down and upon the grind of being

That self-same force

That shapes the billowing evanescence

of steam

or cells

These clouds, look you now

These fantastic beings

dancing along an incarnate seam

Of temperature and moisture extremes

Ocean laden

Arctic driven

Laying down seeds

raining seeds

And blowing them away

The Ozarks are orange in winter’s tattered shroud

They are no one’s favorite color

Orange in broomsedge neglect

Orange in the undertones of cedar cones

And the cruciferous leaves that hang fire prone

In the dragon-neck branches of post oaks

And in the eyes of folks

Scratching life out of dry bone

But here we hum in this rhymeless haze

Above the gravel bellies of earth fed streams

Where children ease on summer days

Catch crawdads and drift away

Melting the sediment of ancient seas

That gushes sweet from springs and streams

Streams that feed the kingfisher and break the dormant seeds

Of Hamamelis vernalis, glacial relicts and a billion weeds

Churning in the antiquity of gravel

Orange gravel

Half polished porcelain chips

Rippling beneath cold creeks

Cold from earthen depths and subterranean seeps

And out again to the light of day

And the green bliss that gently fades

From frost and back again with vernal rains

Rains that lend a sharp snag to checkered bark

Heaved from red sandstone and sour clay

What made it so real

She was too dumb to know better

And that’s what he loved about her

Love that hung in the air

Like gas station toilet paper

            Thin, fibery and unsuited to the purpose

It hung there to scare you

It hung there out of necessity

Out of need and urgency

It hung there for perverts

And ne’er-do-wells to feed on

And when you were quiet, and gone

They held each others

Legs like legs

Like logs

Like velcro skin melting together

Hands over skin

So smooth, so young

So unlike any other

They didn’t care to move

Or bother you

With the utility

The accumulation

or wet confirmation

Of their desire