Sunday, December 27, 2009

Drunk on Peach Fuzz


Okay, I will do it:
sing longer songs tonight because sometimes
you're just so damn hard to please, and I guess I am
still courting you, trying to get into
your soul's knickers.

What makes you like that—grouchy around the edges?
What classrooms have you lounged in;
what nonsense have you traded
your gold

How can you look so needy—
God is growing in fields you own.

He hangs from trees you pass every day. He is disguised as that
peach and pine cone.

Every sound I hear—He made it.

I have been walking with two canes these days—
guess why?

It is because of His beauty and that blond peach fuzz floating
everywhere like dust—

it has made me
so drunk.