Amidst the beer
brats and buns
between the talk
tastes and teasing 
let us not 
forget the fallen 
who fell silent 
so others have 
freedom to sing

Scrub a dub 
dub bub said 
the tub to
the sink as
the toilet cried
and I’m supposed 
to stink with 
a brush in
a rush and 
a crush on
clean the maid
made her way 
to every thing

I call this 
the wee hour 
the tiny time 
when man is
mouse and morning 
feels like a 
feline I dodging 
and ducking its 
heavy paws of 
daylight run away 
beneath blankets dark 
oh no not 
just a wee
bit more of
languid lovely laziness 
before I’m eaten 
by the sun 

Laying here before 
long past after 
just looking outside 
I wonder how 
long I’ll wait 
before I drag
these weary bones 
to the kitchen 
here is comfort 
there is cold 
and the quiet 
of rainy mountain 
mornings makes yawning 
and coffee hard
where’s that finger 
from old cartoons 
tickling my nose 
carrying me above 
the icy floors 
like I’m on
a magic carpet 

These words 
little stones
upon which 
I walk
some wet
and slippery
some coarse
but they
all lead
for those 
found behind 
have the 
footprints of 
thine eyes