Mingled Phrases of Friends

The hodge-podge hurdy-gurdy man

with ropey muscles

raised free roaming chickens

in his pocket garden.

He was a firecracker

but could not live on expectations.

He curled up at the Bodhi Tree,

read a bowl of creation,

eyes glowing like light bulb

filaments .

He blew smoke rings.

Jesus jumpin’ jiminy, bring

me a beer, he yelled.

No one heard him

as he grasped the iron

gate, an ice box of writer’s

block.

Hated, berated, anticipated.

Fire ants.

She sent him air kisses

in a bone china cup,

the expectations torn

open.

Underneath the covers,

he pondered the departure

of his mortal coil.

A daydream, a sanctification

of the fruit of the universe.

On the red eye, he hit his head,

excused himself, no longer

trapped but unwrapped

without insomnia.

He would dance

with a Himalayan gourd

at vespers.

~C.J. Prince

©2015