what sobers the mind in trivial act
a devil’s song leading one towards
doom and under false spells lonely souls
interact and remain as they are
malnourished.
we walk beneath leaves
and the pulse of nervousness finds
only true strangers of mist.
as the light of morning censors
hope delimits the tremors
of tomorrow.
let me walk and recapture this circuit
a remix of a lullaby all wrapped up spiritually
from three days ago
when I saw you sidewalk bound reading initially
____first always with the quick scan and lip glance
still dreaming of Fellini and this perfect part:
inquisitive and whimsical
until the new day presses the time stamp gently;
all the while among the smiles,
you venture to take Carol Channing on:
one on one in a dance off
because
that’s just the way you are.
The start of light
the continual emancipation from question
mars the granules of completion.
You—the other minute of the nine
into the deep of sleep
a like wondering of certitude as you
place one pebble near the feet of the one anointed
by your fixed gaze of gazes.
Holy as it is, you venture and make place
of granite rock
a change of communication against
the will before the butterflies return
again.
Where does it ever say?:
require__me to make you understand
or possibly doubt everything:
even those wise words–goings on…
delays because of what is not all of you.
I am more so deleted:
it’s okay though,
those lovely eyes couldn’t impress upon the thickets
of weeds and August blooms of wildflowers as seen by me;
even the angels had a front row seat to this occasion.
You, could have been there.
But,
my soul train left early to reconnect with another.
Rewind—–down dark corridors illumined by candle carrying monks,
into the Hallmark section browsing
unsigned Valentine cards with post script:
All The Best.
When you desire,
love
continue to do so.
shadows walkabout in pairs reluctant
some crowd near an open flame to dry.
the aroma of yesterday’s meal
ignites memories of mother baking bread outside,
hands caked with dough turning
north
south
her many smiles reaching out to the heavens
accompanied by
guitar strumming
and drums
crackling courtesy of Max Roach.
a bamboo paradise, some days a sandy depression.
Broken into this place of a thousand hopes,
void creates the established voice
once read and unbroken, papyrus still
wet.
Here, you will remember those rocks
unheard watching the borderlands where
dreams walk under and wade through
paper money, laws biting into flesh until
new leaves sprout from the desert brush.
Below,
the imprint of lizard tracks walk around a handbag
left-by-a-chain-link-fence-bordering-a river bed dry:
my mind
remembering past sentences;
good food of the city—-
receipts collected and papers signed.
Soon an invasion rains down drowining what left
taking all my possessions: but I am still here.
Some however are forced blank,
a heated battle to water the mind again and again,
until laughter sounds sideways every which way.
A brief connection arose out of a whim undertaking
while all the strict impermanence
of the natural wavelengths revisted her in complete silence.
Meetings like this occur most often in the face
of consequences yet made.
The feeling reminds me of the toll road—
and to continue on
I have to exchange my imagination as currency.
under a foreign leaf
where the shade is altered by contact
and
reenters the dirt track
which follows the bridge
out of the sandy bowl;
you abruptly consider
the choice to violate the
continued cycles of automata
and bring about only the vine
interrupted by rough breath
a splinter of future sentence.
I am rereading the lives of Athenian aristocracy
and outside the cat is doing the same, albeit
with a smirk,
or perhaps a droop of the lip.
I contacted the post about a letter
yet received,
sent from the Midwest of all places;
nervous thoughts come to fruition
as in the news
terror raids the populace
and grinds them into nostalgic potted plants.
QED 