You Be the Judge

In Reply to Dr. Berkeley, or
Flouting Grice’s Maxim of Quantity

I am not aware of hearing anything
as I lie on my right side, prone
on the red granite gravel bar
of the Early Winters Creek ford.

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So long.
    So long to get
    where you want.
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I take a crystal tumbler
and fill with crushed ice.
The yellow and white
labeled can comes next,
a Canadian dry tonic.
The sloe gin is last,
a subtle British sunset
to end this trying day.

How surprised I am
to so often discover
mice quickly dead
from forearms caught
in greedy grabs of Jif.
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“This” is a word that letters built.
This is a sentence built from words that letters built.
This a poem constructed from sentences that words made of letters built.

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One James Calendar Irvine Moore
was born to a horsebreeding family
in Lexington, Kentucky, July of 1840.
His christening honored his forefathers.
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Vaani the vole who pokes her nose through snow knows
Why, while wriggling her toes for the wakening spring.
Torin the trout who peeks from the cat-tailed creek knows
Why, and anticipates a date with his speckled mate.
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Two eyes, one mouth
Two ears, one mouth
Two feet, one mouth
Two hands, one mouth

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Do not deadhead evil flowers
    nor pinch their potent buds
for wrong is ne’er so strong they say
    as when new growth is stressed.
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