When I Ride…

Tribute to poet: Scott Wannberg


Earful of Sun

How you get up in the early hours
tells me a lot about your dancing ability.
They claim the highway has no best friend.
Someone bailed it out of jail, though, last night.
We sat and drank beer and watched the meteors fall.
I got an earful of sun and had to wash my ears out afterward.
Maybe the resurrection will show up as promised and give us
something to sing about.
Maybe it won’t.
I intend to sing anyway.
When you finish reciting all the pain,
when the dog finally digs up his last bone,
come on over and put the bulletproof vest down.
Everybody says they want to be loved.
They say it over and over and over.
As soon as they finish hitting me over the head,
I will get up and love them.


Thank you, Perceval Press.

This entry was published on August 22, 2011 at 2:20 am. It’s filed under contemplations and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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