Between Dream and Concrete

Things hint this is
the way I will end up,
surrounded by beasts
of fur and feather and iridescent carapace.

Friends

A single bowl.
A single scroll of alphabets
to follow
lost
back and forth between dream and concrete.

Amidst the thistle of memories
and a life-time of wrinkles in my clothes,
my beard will become
as wild as any bamboo broom.
It'll sweep the air,
cleaning it before and after
I speak the words for
nothing and silence.

Things hint this is
the way I will disappear,
becoming invisible
enough
to go nowhere.




jerry gordon
5.21.6