Three possible things before breakfast (after dinner edition with five? things)

here is a summer poem
because I keep telling people
I have a poetry blog
and presumptively that
would be this:

Thirty five days without a "like"

Everything about this is is special to me
and
I suppose I have to accept that if it's
only
so
it might be so
only
and

you all
are
my
safe
pixels

Not much, what's new with you?

The one who got away

Last.

Baktun 13.1.1.1.1

JH says "two thousand twelve gets closer every year"
this was two thousand four
Los Incas on the turntable and
really dinosaurs stalking annelids in the wet grass
and the San Pedro stew setting in

JB says "don't wear out that jacket"
or, "don't wear that jacket out"
or maybe, "don't out wear that jacket"
the meaning melting off the words and
I'm dumbly out wearing a brown suit coat with green paisley lining

BE says, not much really
On Land wooming out the open windows
of the Volvo wagon as we roll up
Hi Mountain Road and
unnamed Cretaceous sandstones are budding across the ridge

AK also quiet in aviator glasses
when we get to the peak and stroll to the lookout
a woman, a volunteer, a docent, a wildlife biologist
I'm not exactly sure
is wanding a radio antenna left and right in long slow arcs

CL says "we had number 22 fly over last weekend, I could see the wing tag"
we all look up
"She's not there now"
Rufous Hummingbirds are zipping and flitting
and later the sky busts open into Paracas tapestry

stop me if you've heard this one.