Everyday Majestic Musings

Little golden naked man,
reaching out his empty hand,
palm turned up, looks like he's begging
for a pair of winter leggings.

Details make him appear frigid:
penis shrunken, nipples rigid,
arms are stiffened, legs are too.
Probably his skin's gone blue.

Won't you save him from distress,
keep him from frost's chill caress,
undo/redress cold undress?
God bless, I guess.

I'm sitting at a cafe with a book
from a friend I don't want to stop thinking about,
a friend with whom I'd love to laugh and cook
but currently I'm trying to spend time without.

I'm worried somewhat about the connection
between bouts of loneliness and how much time we'd spend
engaging in our happy intersection
and my discontentment when our conversations end.

And so I'm taking time out of my day
to sit and read this book outside my neighborhood cafe
and enjoy it for its own sake not because it came from them
so we can go back, hopefully, to being close again.

Maybe this is asinine. Don't know.
My sign it's time to disentwine and grow.
Assign divine design, recline, let go.
That vulpine smile though. (don't be crass)

I think this tree is growing little trees,
with shoots and leaves that rise and brush my knees.
The root projects extensions disconcertingly.
Are trees just branches that were sprouted vertically?

What happens if they continue to grow
and never turn or bend at an elbow?
Can they elongate rapidly
and rise up to an apogee
that punches through the canopy
and escapes the earth's gravity?
It seems unlikely that I'll ever know.