Postcard Part 1

~This will be the beginning of a 3-part postcard series that were written beneath the copper tree during a bike tour of East Austin art galleries. It was a very magical, sweaty day and I tried to not think when I lifted pen. This seems to almost always create better pieces. Don't take my word for it though, I am a liar.

See what you think.~

Part One:

I'm on a roughened bench

sitting beneath a tree

dilapidated copper and dripping silver leaves

I sincerely believe

this tree sprouted in a dream

and now buds to reassure me

of this

The evening sort of aroused us all

The shade became exotic

part of waking that creaked

in my consciousness I wondered

if you sliced through my bones

what poetry you'd find

Arteries are clogged

stuffed wine-tinted hyperboles

that hold graceful little hands

It smells like a sack of seeds

with the freshness of frothy tide

I wished for more.

I feel the hour relay a beautiful

exhaustion and a timely numb.

As I sit, and write on a post

card that never gets mailed

each year the addresses lose houses

connecting them to me

and I sit beneath a tree

this deathly little tree