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Vines and Bagpipes Today I danced to Blood and Butter under sturdy redwood ascended by overripe jasmine ancient grape and hungry honeysuckle. I swirled around the vines bent under butterfly bush branches encircled shining black leaves of rubber thrummed with hummingbirds quenching themselves on burro’s tail. Sometimes the poetry in my body just needs a little musical botanical nudge to come gushing out. The only witness to my gyrating spasms of reckless abandon? My two-year-old son in other words a brilliant young universe. If I have done anything aided at all in this sometimes helpless plane of existence we subsist in it is to say whatever you’re feeling is OK.
Here is the song referenced, “Blood and Butter” by Caroline Polachek:
You know what I’d pay for? To hear your son recite an entire poem—of yours or his own, wouldn’t matter.
Great poem, Mike, a-buzz with the energy and pure abandon of life, shared by father and son and the nature—three brilliant universes unfolding together. Polachek is always a good choice.