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Poem

Smokey hillside, offers flavors 
of privacy bared open.
Reading like futuristic three, 
maybe fourth dimensional sign 
that says "open".
The neighbors business blabbed
all around by "Miss social, "the "original", organic-loving and down to earth hippie.
She corrals Betty's stew and wafts it up for my senses to approve.
As I walk the lush and the crunch 
of her ravine.
She carries on about what a beautiful day it is-
Showing me the harmony of relationships that the greenery of the Glade has procured out of Barter alone.
Lifting my shirt in a tuft of tantalizing-underhandedness,
to persuade me to agree.
As she sneaks a charming smile
simultaneous in pure corruption to let it go down easy.
A sugarpill for my already cult hypnotized serenity.

Field urchin pick pockets flirt the occasional cameo, with tails in question or exclamation.
To show I'm headed the right way.
Like sports judges, critiquing my
choice of approach or in the approach my body language parlays.
The autumn air has an air to it.
A magic that lies in hibernation 
the rest of the year,
letting you think it may never return.
But here it is mixed with stove smoke and creating thin tendriled and adult curved imagery from the chimneys, in snapshot fluidity. 
Slow and easy so that I don't 
miss a thing.

After a bit I find the birds want me to critique this time.
After getting poll position, 
and stuffing their feathers,
they sound off. 
With a contrived, but surprisingly,
not at all nauseating display of
look how small I am but!....overacting cutesy. 
In a way, it's a bit disgusting.
In it's neediness in competition.
What is this Star Search?
I chose my favorite after long deliberation. 
But told no one, so that no feelings
were hurt and next walk will be a
continuation, thawed, right in step
with today.

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