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Tuesday, August 2, 2011


     What if? What then?

Icebergs follow icebergs, Kalishnikovs. Oil deck. Teal flames
and the nylons peel off.
The stupidity of being 
never felt so right.
White clouds are precious now
outnumbered as they are.
Buttered pearl. Tinctured parrot. Fire opal
cry to me
Rebuild the masterpiece. Why be afraid?

Most days are quiet at their best
empty as Cleveland in the wind,
fumes glassing from the bus’s tubes,
friendly folks with sausages and wine.
You can't help hear a plaintive song
too weird for mass consumption,
grow enamored
and daydream the rain
and daydream
the symmetry to be tomorrow too. 

     In. On. Allover. Forever.
Suspicious of my own desire
I take revolution with my tea,
abdicate thought to a worshiping eye,

swear to turn away from dirty voices
(how they talk like an addiction)

Mute the chatter Find the center Blow the fires down.

Tugboats camellias violins next.

     As evolutions move swiftly I see the broken hand pushing me outward
to the back of the line
thinking the fading
emerge and then fade,
so the emergent will fall.

But they often advance.
Every motion, like a game of chance
to influence by pretty visions,
confounds control. No matter
the quality of your wonder,
speak of beauty and watch the stares, alarmed,
you weirdo.

Other eyes kill.
as the camera’s casinos intimidate fortune,
elements moving in key with a purpose
with no intention to serve us.
Scrape past in a smile to some extreme new yes
and the streets get treacherous
like indices racing toward a precipitous dip
on the way to obscurity and beyond

on the way to red-light eyes,
inflated lives moving in McMotion,
tyrants and oligarchs, invisible waiting;
glaciers like midnight
slowly sleeping their way
toward awakening valleys.

    With something approaching grace, I fall, I fall.
It's mostly repetition
for those outside extraordinary realms. Us inbetween
middle-class marsupials

ride that tremendous bridge in the sunrise
to the imperial rainbow in the open air
feeling the power of thick-again mystery
in every perplexion sent from above. Feel too
tyrants and oligarchs
invisible, waiting,
glaciers like midnight, honeysuckle, and moonlight.
Oxytocin, hibscus days.
Chalk dust. Clouds of diamonds in October sunsets.
The warmth of home.
The pain of home.

A spiral staircase docks me on its genome.
Rebuild the masterpiece. Why be afraid?

     As petals of conversation
drop here and ere,
laws reveal meaning
in crushed-up codes—a thicket language
the X’s, A’s and V's
of airport screens,
gnashing teeth at the stress of propulsion,
imitate being before silence is dream.
Mute the chatter Find the center Blow the fire down

Wherever I go I find love still consuming me.
As defensive as holy I was sure I was useless,
a poet a tumor a dodo
a system to myself.

Something faster beckons
Take me take me take me.
To honeysuckle and moonlight
to oxytocin and hibiscus days
to influence by pretty visions
killing eyes mortgaging today.

     Take tonight. 1/31st of May, cool marine air
loaded like belugas
with every toxin the currents carry in,
I see children, heads hemorrhaging delicious chemicals.

Primarily what applies to them is what they like.
Chalk dust. Clouds of diamonds in October sunsets,
toxins carried by the currents deep within.

For example of nothing, observe:
Human life as mineral deposit--
something got churned out by Earth
wading through carnival fog,
searching the grass for invisible coins,
stuck by the arches at nine o’ rock high,
broadcast honchos rising them high
to busts look like agony—
dope stare, pleading wound of mouth,
ecstasy followed with shame
like old men hiding back
in their hospital gowns.
As easy as paradise, I stir the dream.
Oxytocin. Hibiscus days.
Moonbeams. Freakshow. Epiphany. Next.
There you are.
A cipher, a dodo, a dream, a system to yourself

as moths in the halo of city blue
start letting loll tongues that lick away the moon,
lovely as they go
as dreams of those
who want something bad badly—
fat drugs love disaster desire destruction perfection it all.
I swore to turn away from dirty voices:
soap opera love. Curtains raging at 3 a.m.

Tugboats. Camellias. Violins. Next.
A woman you visit when the robins find Spring.

     Some nights the spotlight shines
like you're Random Miss Universe, 2010.
Others, in darkness,
you're searching the grass for invisible coins.
And the whole human shebang dusts off its lectures 
like a sitcom professing to KNOW.
The rules of this game. 
Pirates get ransom. Drug lords get paid. Civilians drop off. 
The apse of the night gets ripped by the motorcycle.
Nylon peels, butter pearls,
tugboats, hibiscus, heart attack, next.
Then Spring, the final icicle.

O nights of the youth with the world on a string,
I have no advice cuz it's all 50/50
and I live on the fringe
of sustainable things.
Burn these words quickly and then burn your own.
Today is all gone; you deserve incredible flings.

Stir the dream, easy as paradise.
See what to believe when the robins take wing.

The weather tomorrow only lasts while it lasts 
like pink sidewalks in the Spring.

1 comment:

boanders said...

Great with a capital 'G'