in the Book about Poetry we call for the unconscious married with a skill for words
but what of great danes, mimosas, street murals, neighbors long gone yet reappeared
from houses so many blocks away, talk of the need for weeders, free-for-all bike repairs
all so very conscious, the dates drifting into our unconscious as the alcohol settles in as
we gaze at upside down rabbits painted on fences and stocky women heading off to retirement
only to return to bust over-occupied apartment complexes and landowners with no licenses
I know a few of them, the ones with grass up to their waists, big bills in their back pockets
sipping wine in Vail or North Boulder, or did they move upscale again so they could drive
their new Prius downtown to fight zoning changes, I digress again with champagne bubbling
below to marry the unconscious with the conscious, a missing skill for words to describe
what happened tonight around the corner, this is what makes the world go round,
and no, it's not just words.
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