HillShadow
Time is measured by the peaks;
the backlit sun all at once speaks.
But here our plodding, muddled wills
live in the shadow of the hills.
Things
I know the
new spinning,
shooting, levitating,
backordered, laser-looping,
boredom-crushing gizmo will
not do what it is supposed to do.
Yet I will buy it for my son
whom I love more than life.
For by six,
he is old hat
in the knowledge
that I am powerless
against the collective lie.
I Samuel 12:19-25
The poetry and images of
Kenner Beckley
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