Friday, December 25, 2009

II - The Who-How (Unformatted)

Longing smoke fractures from a small fire,
Lets eyes dance
Which fall into an unrecognizable pile.
Small complaint, please.
What am I still doing here?
Hits cloudy glass.
Rain storms in the mirror.
The sign said said, walk alone with another,
And the green grass grows all around all around

Then the green grass grows all around.
(Downtown, wander, artists on the brink
Of never being discovered. Winter never ends here. Their scarves strangle them
Their coats blow in the wind,
And falling down Michigan avenue,
I wish I could blow away too)

Then our other becomes aware—post the bee sting needling
Its way through dim veins—a lip kiss—
Reaching hands cling—an advertisement
Hiding in littlenothing words—thin lanes;
Street spirits banshee screaming. Silence.

Still I let notes bounce on skin giggling,
Witness breath exit,
Still you only kiss me when you smell of whiskey,
(Drinks to forget forgetting winks of fluttering wings)
Witness breath exit, steam, incense, sex (where does the mind always wander?)
Still traveling towards dusk and an odd cavernous culture,
(Vultures brood on broken branches, a carcass cues their eyes)
Witness breath exit, incense, certainly this time, kept under, burning the binding.
Never felt so free, not since the twilight of Spring and Fall.

Excuse me, but I must get better dressed to meet
All these lovely acquaintances.
Stability is a homely recess.
Catch imagine love want fuck

There’s been a lot of talk about plucking hair
(Not that one can compare)
But there is a golden instrument I’d love to hear
Unlike any other stringed.
She reverberates as she laughs.
Catch imagine
Can’t forget.
Instead I worship a coffee stain
At least mine I can see
Soaking through.

Why not me? Am I not a tabby?
A happy cat tree hugging dirt worshiper
Who does not fight sounds that disagree
With the air that rests?
I can walk, but only barely,
Diametric snares, paradoxical caring
Tell self. Worry lists.
Bend again to reach half backwards
They said. Don’t let that pose go.
A drone bounces as you let open your mouth

Notes bouncing skin giggling drones plucking ad infinitum.

Your mouth is a furnace for the unaware to wander cycles like a force ten gale.
Feels warm here.
(Sunlight soaks through branches and leaves,
Directs our sight upward; still, we feel with our feet.
These trees are our enemies.)
More words, please.
They are lost under water.
Was a wet dream anyway.
Wish the flies would be afraid,
Haven’t had a cup yet today
Well, only one.
Never enough to liven the blood to flowing less coarsely after being awake.
Harping on long hair, but grumpy lips
Whispering wish how will I get with you?
That is my dish.
I’m toward the back end sticking with waste,
While the waiting for
I want to hear,
Senses Sense
Allows such
Discriminates because
I am not here
You are not there
Really, now what is to fear?
Webs. Blank crumpled pages. I’ve been here before.
Forget, it happens.
We’re just like them.

Might be perfect.

In heaven everything is fine,
You’ve got your good thing
And I’ve got mine.

No comments:

Post a Comment