September 14th, 2016

spring 2012

Tree Blind

Hiding In Plain Sight

Tree Blind

I have been living in negative space
Since things went askew
Desiring a revelation
I was side-tracked by stirring leaves
Begging for the spaces between the trunks of local trees
To reveal the side of a passing god

My eyes have grown weary
From stitching together the shadows
Of story and memory
From breaking down the footage
Of others' worn out films
I build the golem of my hope

Down where pollutants were dropped in the creek
Old Bill stole a salt lick and some hens
The locals called an assembly
But they were a bunch of yahoos
Looking for Bunyan in a biscuit
For a booger in the brush

They say these rocks tell stories
That if you ride out on a magic pony
They will murmur as you pass
That their nakedness laughs at you
For they are the reverse shape
Of everything you cannot see

by: Bill Rogers