MENTORS OF THE IMPERVIOUS
An old trail opposed
A gate with the top slat
for comments, “I was just here” etc.
I must have missed you
because the day hadn’t.
Consequently, there is misery in
your circle dotted I’s.
Who takes the time
to cauterize the wood
and burn the careless pistols?
Ah sure, it’s only testosterone
but it’s fading just the same.
Squandered, fairly innocent
chimes hanging from a tree.
This place has suddenly become quietly profound.
Formally just the jingle of tact,
none of which was particularly happening.
Now an unthematic sound
The chimes allow someone’s prayers
to catch a wind and wave phonetically.
Copyright ©2016, by Colin James. All Rights Reserved.
Colin James has a pamphlet of micro poems
out from Rinky Dink Press………