grutzworks3

Llasa-poo The one who lasts with silver hairs in black and white, like any star shooting to this greeting, or the spokes of a tire going this distance. A statue in the night when groomed, the clippers buzzing in a yellow room, layers of bear when you are a honey. Not big, not small, curling up like lashes on the brown couch, you are me, a shadow, a helper, the best kisses on my nose matching yours and smelling food. Pawing at the car window when pulling into the park, who says you're spoiled, who says I didn't need this security.

Your senses.  And memory.  Once I bought a used car because the inside of it smelled like my grandfather.  I'm always trying to make new memories though.

Burlap to Cashmere a play about a poor man finding a painting at Goodwill worth 3.7 million dollars selling it, then buying out the whole store, and neighbors turn him in for hoarding. and a new series of poems on Dogs.  I'm going to research 6 different ones.

The Gordian Knot:  An all silent play woman in professional attire stands center stage at a podium several young women dressed in shorts and T-shirts stand in front of podium taking pictures of woman at podium with imaginary cameras Enter two police officers who are physically skipping and go up to the young women and visibly take each imaginary camera from them and throw these to the ground The women shrug their shoulders, squat down and brush off where the cameras had broken, then they lay down on their bellies and do log rolls right over the officers who fall down and remain on the floor of the stage The woman at the podium starts doing jumping jacks, the police officers start doing push-ups, and the young women on the floor start doing sit ups Enter a P.E. teacher moving quickly up to them and blowing a whistle and all of them stop what they are doing and jog in place, then stop. The teacher points up with index finger draws down a straight line to indicate a r

The adventure of a good long think   The day we set to wings   We knew the hours would soar   Highs and lows and on any branch   Catching up to a steady look   From the above too clear there   To trace roots when wonder   In the wind stirred our senses   Back to the design of our own nature   Pitted against recent storms   And muddied steps of personal elements   Here we are looking out windows   Where trees stand in salute   To the good fight   - S.Grutz