I stand in awe each time I see
a thousand flowers bearer tree,
Pretty flowers like anemones
at tall trunk with hard fruits like stones
or bullet balls of the army.
the kids are going nuts
one almost keeled over
one inquires about the whereabouts
of the large-caliber pipe pistol
one gives the spheroid
a handshake and hug
the arm like an tartarean
eclipse with a surreptitious
star-nosed mourning
mole on the end of it
one gives the projectile
a high five, invented by a
basketball player with
four fingers
but what about him?
who is he under the
cycloidal velvet? how did
he get this gig?
did he expect models
draped over vintage tanks?
rubenesque ladies straddling
the missiles?
can he take the costume home?
who is responsible for it's wash?
does he put a cancer stick
in his touch hole in the car park?
does his lady-indoors
own a rammer?
he wishes the day would end
go home for a grapeshot
that he could be elevated
at forty-five degrees
and sent airborne towards
the automatic doors
the
red tail hawk
shall
barrel through
the Breckenridge blue sky
like a cannonball on fire
thus
captures her prey
with desire
at the break of dawn
round metal object
placed inside long cylinders
drop shoot cannon ball
3/29/18
written by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018
I am the shadow of a cannonball.
I watch bees float from flower to flower,
While beyond the back of the shed
The good work of anyone awaits my attention.
Though--I know now one thing!
Twinkling into my orbit now,
The lost dog on the great plains,
The quivering flame beside the feverish man,
The surfaceless bottom,
Like squirt gun chases
I proclaim through a breeze:
If my brother's fiancee's son
Needs wispy and wild advice
This I will provide
As the shadow shifts past.
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