on concrete and hippies

[vagabond]

we awaken to the sounds
of dump trucks        cement mixers
hydraulics hissing

they should sound like failure
        my failure
to bend        to blend
to use the tree canopy as roof
the leaves as bed                                              
interesting stanza.. experiencing it as failure to blend in with the hippies. that leads me to the thought that there should not be the obligation to blend in at all, one way or another.


children fight over a toy
that they each must have
they and no other
push pull punch scream tattle

their love for each other
is no deterrent to        mine
how could it ever be?

not when they want
not when it's               theirs
tell me how
this is not the way of nature?                                

you tell me to touch the nature within me—
you and your henna tattoos
essential oils        magnets        crystals
and hemp everything
you tell me
allow the primal to guide
nice way to unmask  empty bullshit


but if i'm honest
the trucks' rumbling sounds like assertion
instead of apologizing or moving to the side
sorry—so sorry

i'm not sorry today                                        

i breathe deep the sound of
control        a concrete anchor
because this is where we'll stay
here and nowhere else                              

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Looking to see if I should pursue this one or if it's yawn producing.

i don´t think it´s yawn producing. the way you forge your message is interesting (it is unfortunately not clear enough for me).