"the leopard's song"
the way to the beach by the open field bay
is a time-space continuum of royal decrees
and a air-breath articulation of the crispy breeze,
in a fall out turnpike over the hill,
where the mailman rushes to do what is in his films,
the neighbors are rushing to do what they will,
and the time is in the window where she watches his return,
all the way home, where the huskies always go,
all the way home, and this is for my resolve,
for the only time that there has been long
centers for shopping all the way along,
to hope that is watching the peace on the lawn.
the bird, it is humming to the anthem of our song,
it is rushing and bumbling along to the ancient sing-along,
the view, it is a ways to the middle of the earth,
but when we get there we will give birth to a lifetime of mirth,
when then people keep watching the one home tree house,
where the townsperson lives who never comes out,
he just lets out his shout down the central town pass,
and the city shouts right back, they tell him he's on the right track,
and the running of the leopard is up for freedom,
over the fallen logs, hiding from the sun again,
feeling it beat on him and truly enjoying it,
where he is speeding is not a passing thing,
the environment, it careens, it does it in speed,
it responds to te people, it's there's to reign in,
and the people are holding their breath to the time by the charms,
leading us to wonder, how good it is to get along.
by Ryan Ventriloquist