... Just Saying ...

He who hears the rippling of rivers in these degenerate days will not utterly despair. - Thoreau

on the railinged patio of my apartment atop summer hill

so named "land of many hills" long ago by native americans along with the fact that they would spend summers here hunting and fishing before moving south for the winter

slouching and pondering in my plastic adirondack chair whilst witnessing the pelting rain

contemplating what happened to true independence

blood red stripes in recently minted, waving flags and exploding fireworks planned for later

the river dying to spill its banks

fascinated by the pom poms of heaven's cheerleaders

meandering the same path it's carved out for ages

long since polluted

there is harsh truth and reality mixed in with the grunge

beguiling all who are burdened to make it in this life

and that is where you will find me

between the drops

on the banks

wishing

fishing

pissing

beckoning

reckoning

praying

weighing

swaying

staying

... just saying ...

Author's Note

"If it's life you're after - real life, the history of life, the ebb of life, the flow of life — the river is the place." - Thoreau