I am tinkering,
Experimenting,
Under a low flame.
A cue from nowhere
Sounds off colors
Belching from a saxophone
Smooth rippling
Melody in pocket
Wait for the moment
To show and tell,
The inside out
And outside in
Iridescent bubbles of
Electric proportions
And that light again,
Peering in
Just outside the membrane
That keeps inside
The cold matter
Lined up like beer bottles
Against the amber blotches of
Golden comfort,
Hoarded and spent,
Remnants of captured glory,
Residue of yesterday's poem.
Butter hens pecking the eyes
Out of dawn ‘s early light
Tasting the day
Before it begins
And leaving the world
Nutrient starved.
Ricketed bare bones to
Pillars of salt.
Don't look into the eye
Of the Jazzman
It's black caverns
Are deeper than anything
You don't want to remember
But the music will gently
Lower you down
And the bottomless bottom
Is full of cricket songs
And shooting stars
And your meaningless body
Is composted
With the colors of
Other finished things
Slowly spiral tunneling
Down memory lane
Each thought at first a
Blazing star seen up close
Then further away,
In static shutter speeds,
Ratcheting into the time portal
The soft pull of gravity's wishes
Swallowing snakelike
Everything that was,
And making room for everything
That will.
Leaving bare
The cloving of natural selection
To it's lonely struggle
Against a steel cold sky
Reactive thought provocations
Protruding into blue vistas;
Confident zones of stunning design
Exhaling soft amplitudes
Of a light, gnarly and sinewy,
The leather faced
Survivors of Sol's winter retreat.
Dragging captured attachments
Hunted and outsmarted
Tagged and released in suburbia.
Frisky appendages
Complaining dissatisfaction
In ridiculous shades of thrashing waters
While The Knowing of Things
Slips beneath the surface,
Swimming under the water
And holding its breath.
I am watching…
Myself channel energy
Into community cisterns,
And urinating clues
To the whereabouts
Of people
Once known
To have shared the same flight path
And see them veer off into the horizon
A yellow flash
Of illuminated metal
Dripping into the tributaries
Of a common straight line
Shattered by the weight
Of expected infinity.
Its resonant circuits
Victimized by the current
As it winds,
Increasing and decreasing
In strength
And ferocity
Around every bend of mind
And falling down every rocky face
Of certainty
With a signergystically measured tone.
Are we really just clouds?
In an azure sky
Whose color
When carefully retracted
Is violet-black
And diamond white
Reflecting a light
Brighter than the stellar orb
Whose kind warmth has
Nurtured our youth
In memories of green scented
Summer nights
Punctuated only by
The cries of disappointed lovers
Trailing off in cars whose tires
Tread away in defeated tones,
And hooded embarrassment.
Lips twitching,
Within a contorted expression
The rhythmic wince
Of regretted actions
Hidden beneath
Layered concealment
Under folds of darkness,
With searing creases
Of guilt and retroactive wisdom.
An icy blue neon red blood glow
Mark the Texas stare
Of a long horn steer
Down the barrel of a gun.
Blank and void.
Have a nice day!
Eyes wide open
Prodded into the dull stare
Of a withered fence post.
A sentry of collective agreements
Hand rubbed promises,
And stiff drinks
Whose alcohol content
Fluctuates in proportion
To the amount of money
Changing hands
At any given time
Those insipid ethers
Climbing and sinking
Dispersing and condensing
Giving the appearance of clouds
Clouds that convince
Clouds that believe
Clouds that remember
But were never there…
