You Be the Judge

During this seasonal ill, stone
stands out in debossed relief,
the world having gone chill
and soil swelling itself above.
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The Peshastin pear have all gone red.
Leaves long left, rank upon rank
of gray boles hunch their shoulders
which bear forests of crimsoned shoots.
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When division is the objective
tensions inevitably multiply.
Things no longer seem to add up.
Be the one to make a difference.

Fashion failure is not on his menu,
last year’s styles de rigueur mortis.
He is your je ne sais squat,
a haute-mess couture vision,
all savoire faux du journée.
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There’s a rose bush up the way a bit
but the scent ain’t what gives it away—
it’s the downwind rut out front the shed
what catches all the breezes blow its way.
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                                                     one
                                                   tine
                                                     of
                                                   the
                                                   fork
                                                     at
                                                   the
                                                top
                                 of        the
                                    vulture
                                       tree
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He’s a rich churl
Now don’t try to chide him
Teflon on the souls of his shoes
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Pray for the victim, pray for the perp
Pray for the Kingdom to come here on Earth
Pray for the Kingdom, the Kingdom, the kingdom to come
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Selk’nam mythology tells us that natural phenomena, whether wind, snow, lightning, or earthquake, plus the very elements and each animal, were once human beings.
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