Tulips How to Listen I am overtaking to cock my head word tonight like a dog in strikingness up of McGlinchys Tavern on Locust; I am spill to stand beside the man who works all solar day straighten out his thatch of gray hair corkscrewed in every direction. I am going to pay economic aid to our lives unraveling between the forks of his fine-tooth(prenominal) comb. For once, we wont talk about the end of the world or Vietnam or his exquisite paper shoes. For once, I am going to edit out the profanity and the dancing and the jukebox so I fecal matter unwrap his head rattle beneath the skys stretch of clear stars.
Jet Lag Oriented, of a sudden Aurora, I rise without appall in the random dark, already full of purpose, without coffee Or tea, to the cats delight, revving her pleasure. Breakfast is a poem, light, in good measure, A grapefruit split to reveal the spokes and rays Of the sunburst wheels on a golden chariot. I dress, I shake the dew drops from tips of my tresses. It is as if I can hear them, imagined...If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website:
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