jim mccrary

A BOOK OF LEAFS

This is the story of two hipsters in old time Manhattan fooling around on the streets. It is always early fall. Not hot or cold, not clear or foggy, not wet or dry. You had to wear a little jacket…just so. Back then you didn’t have to be gay or straight. Know me by the tales I tell.

 
  	 
A book of leafs 
What’s left of leaves 
Going behind each one to see 
Or  be seen  
And not becalm    
This very way of signing 
Ing ing ing ing ing 
There I have said it all 
Turn the leaf and leave 
Leave the leaf turned down for me 
Be right there 
Left here 
 
 
 
  
Not everything fallen 
Remains laid 
Across a path to past 
Which call up 
Something from far 
Something from that 
Which dries  up and rolls 
Sideways through an old ditch 
Of nonsense wrote by the 
Likes of my kind 
Me 
  
 
 
  
Forget that 
And forget what comes 
Not what past 
No keeping that 
This though threw me 
This time 
Not again 
But now 
Now and now again 
That would have 
Life and leaf 
As I said before 
Way back here 
 
 
  

There could be 
A lot of this 
Not that run 
Too many leaves 
Make a big table 
Empty as this 
Comes without song 
Or thoughtful 
Praise to muse 
What use that 
Muse go away 
We got more 
Leave here now 
Leaf 
 
  


Left behind 
This mind 
An awful thing 
To flame 
Or 
Left behind 
This mind 
In flame 
Or 
It is too small 
And needs a new 
Leaf 
Leave it and 
Sit close 
 
  


The mind is a good 
Mind and 
Not a lost mind 
Even if mined 
And 
Left behind 
Leaf blown 
And dry 
Just burn It up 
Curbside 
Ignore the smoke 
It will leave any 
Way 
 
  


Sing the song 
Blow the sailor 
Rave across the mean 
Old warf and  
Leave the good leaf 
For the scold 
Walt did and 
So Frank too 
Both of them 
Back then 
Torn up 
Raked 
Left again 
To rot as 
Leave 
  



Having leaf(s) 
Wanting 
Not enough to gather 
One 
At a time that 
End of a season 
Once there was a man 
Walked thru leaves 
Left them 
Unaccounted 
Lying against 
One another 
 
 
 
  
Blown away seemed 
Like a very nice 
Place to be  
Covered 
Left then 
To find a way 
Our leaving 
Bits 
Behind for  
Some other  
Calling the leave 




Left quaint 
Not quiet 
Not quite 
Not 
Just leaf it 
Behind 
Old man 
Kissed a boy 
And let him go 
Leaves a grass 
For sure 
 
 
  

Not him 
The other one 
Sure they both 
Left a lot 
To pile up 
Or not 
Sure they both 
Swept the street 
Of Manhattan 
And suffered 
For it 
 
 
 
  
Boys will 
Be and men too 
Follow 
Blown thru the 
Street 
Like plain leafs 
Across parks 
And brick’s 
Like fan leafs 
Not so much 
Grass in that  
Town 
So 
 
  


Left in place 
They dry up 
And well 
Like old and  
Bad verse 
Lie against 
Each other 
Piled against 
The curb 
Or shelf 
If they be collected 




Maybe to them 
They looked like 
Dead leafs 
Laying in the gutter 
Or packed like 
Beefs 
In a meat truck 
For each 
Of course 
The driver 
Was the prize 
Left a good taste 
On the lips 
  
  
  
  

jim mccrary lives in Lawrence, KS, just trying to stay alive.

 
 

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