Many waiting ruins from yesteryear,
Begin to beg for play, for sharing.
Spaces left hollow, only by lack of play,
By lack of bustling movement.

These ruins wail the aural ecstase,
Like a holographic butterfly effect,
Still there, yet causing memories,
Effecting wanton, screaming for times gone by.

These ruins they lay still, a picture yet,
Passers by gossip the new owners,
Its orphaned attendees are those who scream,
In their minds, in their hearts.

If you want to know how I spend my time
RC Cola and a Moon Pie
Chewing on a stem of Bahia grass
Just in case you feel the need to ask

Skipping stones across a glass top pond
Blowing wishes from a dandelion off the lawn
Living the country life all inside my head
Before I find there ain't nothing left

Chasing Crawdaddy's in a deep wood stream
Playing hide and seek in a pile of leaves
Cane pole fishing for that elusive Bass
All before Summer's put to bed

Catching Fireflies in their flickering light
Counting all the stars in the skys at night
Stolen Watermelon always tastes the best
That's the part that I'll never confess

Skinny dipping for a living in a mountain lake
Jumping out of planes in a barn of hay
Kids being kids being life fed
Just in case you feel the need to ask

To catch my reflection in the afternoon light
The hunt for bullfrog , crawdaddy and catfish -
on rain cooled twilights
Soaring herons
From pileated perches Zachary's tree frogs mourn
Maestro cricket and katydid harmonies -
along familiar field roads
Fog enveloped dales
Blackberry trails
Evening wind song
White pine , sweet gum and persimmon
borders
Barn owl , hound dog curiosity
A border storm in white fanged -
ferocity...

Crazy times of dime bag
dreams and fevered river
scenes that would drown
the lice in Bukowski's beard.

There was a quiet stretch of
sand on the Iowa River, not
far from downtown.
I pitched a tent in the woods
behind that little beach.
Blue herons and blue *****,
I hadn't been laid in a while.

A woman in a red one-piece
swimsuit used to come on
sunny days and lie in the sand
drinking Chardonnay.
I should have done like the
crawdaddy and backed
away.

I stumbled out of the woods
one afternoon, and began talking to
her and drinking her wine.
We laughed and drank under
that demented Iowa sun.
At night, we peeled off our
clothes and swam in the river with
the water snakes and ghosts that
floated down from the university.
I'm almost positive that
Dylan Thomas and Vonnegut
drank with us one night.
It could have just been
cholera or typhoid.

I built a fire after our swim, and we
danced naked and ****** next to an
old elm tree.
The otters and muskrats watched,
as the crawdaddyy slowly backed
away into the wine-soaked night.