A Burnt Tree
When it was too hot instead of too cold
Carbonized Tree on the Desert Stove
A Burnt Tree you discover your own body right in front of you like a burnt tree you move like concrete in a saucepan wishing for the open windows of youth with spotted winds fluttering by like confetti you long for elasticity, pulling, beading you’d give a lot for an earthquake just to get moving sidewalks shaking bone bridges shuddering you never gaze at passing birds lest their facility open canyons of yearning in your tightening limbs the sky is still open and without valence arching over you like a bed on the ceiling




Gary, I never knew you had so much poetry in you. You're the renaissance man for our times (especially in our age group).
I'm feeling like a burnt tree right now, and the Canadian men's team lost in OT. Waughh!