Friday, December 11, 2009

I know we will cross paths again

our business isn't done

everyone leaves a dangling end

to trip up on as if humiliation could

be felt by egotists

what fool would expect a fool land on his ass

and suddenly have a shining farhead (joke intended)

I can't even believe I'm dribbling out these lame

little bon mots not so bon and hardly mots

but good enough to say what a way

to sign off as I exit the gate through which I entered

and look one last earthly time at the black shape of a house

in a field blocking an increasingly smaller area

of deep blue twilight and bright blots of planet (Venus--

no--Jupiter) in the deep blue twilight I've been awaiting

my entire life--how I love twilight--how much more love the night--

the soothing stars dappling the Hanged Man as he leaves the Wraecca

on his road and follows St. Milito on another dance...

Content (c) 2008-2009 Philip Milito.

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