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>. > ><b><i> > >Winter Golf in New York > > >Fine art is born from unrest >the tendrils of frayed thoughts >reaching out to a new world >beyond the barren reality >of dying strip malls, as >red sledge river slush >pushes our puke >to the banks of our >fractured failures > >acid rain falls heavy on old soil >the earth rejects our change >belching out its defiance >in great storms that slap >the shit out of fragile coasts >as global warming ticks away >one slow melt at a time > >I notice the Cardinals stay for the winter now >Like us, they are opportunity seekers >bent on getting more for doing less > >As a grizzly bear stands lost on floating ice >we golf in December wearing smiles > > >ajs > > > >.
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