early morning dew

it started with a trickle , all that babble
giving the realpolitik slip to all that ideology
the high pitch of the shuffling and the flashing, like a red light in your dash when you're driving at night thru moose country,
makes me want to go have a sleep under yonder tree,
stretched out like a weary giant whose trudging has got him nothing to write home about,
and still hungry.

Everybody's got a scripture or a solution
Its the yelling in my ears and the elbows to my chest that I object to.
Can't quite get over the anxiety
pacing the floor picking out tidbits of memory
synched to a beat

And they like the smell of death, while we here like the smell of all four seasons on the wind
and like the universe coming through the eyes of lovers escaping the clutches of witches,
escaping breath by breath , floating not sinking ,on a directionless depth not picked up by compasses and GPS's.

Betting on the stars and the galaxies expanding invisibily thru me ,
leaving the taste of the early morning dew to slide on through.