a poem

 The Smell of the Endless

The both of us are on the good,

Searching up and down the neighborhoods,

On the spell of God and on the fate of prayers,

To the lives unwound by the beach home stairs,

Making life so long to the window’s sound,

By the flow up her hair that was,

Chasing him up and down,

Along from the collarbone and way down to the juggles,

For one heat to rise up and one more to caboodle,

The mere expressions on the false perceptions,

Were ways of exiting the rise that was endless and in their fate,

On the way they were right in front of it all,

To the time he held his pinky in his hand and knew never to fall,

To the rub that runs off with the romp,

To the smell that’s endless on the clock,

To the waves of sand that go to dunes to France,

To the Miami Dolphins featuring in Japan,

Of course this is the way it foes,

From here to there to Tokyo,

To the sound of Beethoven filled up on caviar,

To the famous children’s museum making playful ones smile. 

By Ben Bussewitz