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Monday, January 4, 2010

Blue Candy

i. cornflower

Morning when the world is layered by Venetian blinds
into a cake of shadow and aspirin
who knows what I think

Rainy museum days
bleed the windows Matissean blues,
waltzing Boteros into the deep,
standing in the Asian
wing of the storm.

I hear my harbors welcoming:
Sweet Whatever, please,

whatever I am cannot be enough.

ii. like midnight

Cruise ship winging through architrave.
Chrome-white and delicate,
surfaces stippled
like the gewgaws of deceptive fish:
a carpet of blossoms
in a jungle of triangles.

Open arms.
The laws are subject to incineration.

iii. vein

Sea castle sugarflower
jungle beam wave jade
crystal black breast blue
cherry mint ocean wide.
Increasingly soon
we enter the end it happens to be.

All in the chiaroscuro of 70’s cinema.

Exotic angles will bend at the knee.

iv. topaz

Who could predict
the strawberry
and the bird of paradise?

Creation gets an idea it cannot restrain.

Pineapples in the eyes of god
and sex on the half shell later

light drapes down the earrings of the evenings--
soft collisions as the morning splits
new music, rose moons.

Exotic birds stab the air,
form phrases oceans foamed.

Does it still exist?
Do you know?

Say yes.

v. white rain

To wind with the grace of elegant formulas
sweeping the air like a gesturing hand

and I try to untwist the twisted, see?
Pass through lagoon
pass through the nebula
pass through like rain joining a cracked earth.

Like light shattering the rain.

Like the name I need to invoke.

vi. hard indigo

Another golden milky way
and the emerald earth of tonight:
blue skies, expanding sands.

Every day I re-realize
I know no calm like pressure
like some deep-sea fish
shapeless and unnamed
lighting its way through the jaws of something
it has forgotten how to fear.

 vii. soft bay

Formica wharves
caramel air
skies iridescent and blue
as the Camaro at bay
by the palms of a white hotel.
Streets dressed in a cloudy sky, I realized
The Odds Are Against You for Messiah.

Exactly because of this do the pages keep turning.
Because of this are new buildings designed.
viii. wild eye

Every portrait succumbs 
with dusk approaching
to blue mud,
a theater of seas--
robin’s egg, sapphire and midnight--
complete with iron strangers

who court from sea to sea,
great battleships that raise their prows
purely wounded as the hurricane
lifting its own Spartan plume
stares like a cockatoo
into heaven’s blue death.

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