.(rough draft).
let your shadow do the walking
little horse race
let your shadow do the talking
mr. not-much-to-say
let your shadow take the hit
everything goes right through him
he don’t care
he so very flexible
on rocks, on water
stretched out at sunset
and sunrise,
he always changing every which way
depending where the light is coming from…
or how many lights are on…
or, like a flash.
and when you play with him
and dance with him
and pose for pictures with him,
he don’t mind all that.
he is changeable.
he don’t pretend he’s only one person.
he don’t pretend to have so much substance.
he knows he can’t hold onto anything.
he knows he’ll disappear when the lights go out.
.(rough draft).
Hardware Henry wrenched his neck looking sideways at Sally at the Diner on his lunchbreak.
He was the strong, silent type, but his eyes were like guided missles.
Sally shook her head, “The big lunk,” she thought, “What did he think? What did he think he wanted?”
They were both dented and broken and damaged as two Trailways Buses that had crashed into an AmTrak Train going opposite directions across the railroad tracks, and they landed here in Palookaville with Doctor’s bills and Goblin-histories, and whatever else was following them around like dust bunnies under the dresser. And they were both staying at the rent-by-the-week Hotel/Motel on Grant Street where it dead ends at the City Park.
Henry was about 15 years older than Sally, but at some point who’s counting? The older he got the more he felt like it was every one’s souls that were different ages, or the same ages, and as far as their bodies went, it didn’t matter much….. unless you were into mountain climbing, or hang gliding, or whatever.
.
escape the alabaster plaster
the alligator of despair
clock ticking, talking
rythmic cytoplasm
oh, where are we again . again . again .
always the same no different
you’d think it would get old
it never did
something new, unimaginable, like
another planet opposite ours also
called the earth.
…..
all so
very
peculiar.
all so
juxtaposed.
….
what do I think has to be different or finished or accomplised or arrived at before I let myself relax
and enjoy my life and being alive and all its many blessings?
….
What a lovely view!
Did the beach come with the apartment or did you have it installed?
I was thinking about music the other day and whether or not the palm trees were singing to me… then,
I realized, or course not, they were just singing…. dropping coconuts on my noggin while I was joggin
on my tobaggan… oh mercy, stop me! I was supposed to meet Clara around here somewhere and bum a cigarette.
….
singing red flower… oh great
like the alligator ate it so flexible in his luggage mentality
he takes it all with him (every thought)
everywhere he goes.
singing and smoking cigars.
That’s just his nature nobody
really taught him anything
red as a flower red as the blood flower glowing under the summer moon
it was another time
another place
we were calm
and there were waves.
we were fond of retiring for the evening under the listless palms and extreme hair-do’s
being distracted for a moment
by the wing-tip shoes hiding under the surreality of another fold-out couch.
….
Exercise: Poetry Walk: Write something down at the end of every block, at every corner,
connected to something seen or sensed in the moment.
…. …. ….
objects made of atoms
and then spirit and thought and emotion
somewhat facilitated by atoms
then transcending them
into the invisible.
….
i don’t go out looking.
you never know which insignificant event will change your life completely.
or which insignificant event would have changed your life completely if you hadn’t decided
to stay home instead.
…. …. ….
emotions waking up tumbling out of bed
playing listlessly then rambunctously with all my reality paradigms.
turning dials
way past the proper settings
before long I may be in a fog.
….
Broke-down clown downtown lounge
cocktail bar of neon cigar whiskey girls
like the old days, but not quite, just a little––
or if you knocked all the tvs off the wall
then maybe.
….
Where is the tongue-fit nomenclature rewind
of fanatic personal hygene and physical
maintainence among the loose leaf
librarians stumbling down the stairways
or arithmatic and architecture into the
spring air full of song birds and
flower pollen making them sneeze
their glasses off and lose their hats they
can’t even remember where.
. . . .
I’m a walrus in the sunrise
floundering by the sea
fish flop up on the rocks
and taunt me.
I suppose they are playing
but they are slippery,
not really so easy to catch,
not at all.
….
waves are so delicate and frantic
so whispy and whispery and
just out there––fully revealed,
moody as they want to be,
or as the weather allows.
….
Crow sat in the tree pondering the
silent
empty
moment
that seemed so ubiquitous but in truth
was very rare.
….
Road Hawk was waiting
waiting to wheel out
on another adventure
soon.
….
FrankenWhale RobotWhale CyberWhale
cyber clown surfing fell under the waves the whale and cyber clown
recorded then cloned
and added wings for whale to fly or swim
and increased size in geometric progression until whale became as big as
the planet Jupiter
causing gravitational disturbances and swallowing the whole earth.
a whale made of independently
robotic water molecules.
….
Superflous Man
scoffs at buildings with a single thought.
has great disdain for speeding bullets.
has imaginary x-ray vision that sees into other people’s thoughts
in highly distorted and completely inaccurate ways.
hmmphff.
….
song of thorns throaty songs
release form the feet to the street the downbeat the clownseat
I’m mr. wordy on re-wind
ran out of language. . . gonna try a new line
maybe I won’t ever shine just keep rolling keep rolling all the time.
….
dreaming dreaming dreaming
little things come and go.
people come and go.
where is the place of recent discovery.
sleepy sleepy sleepy.
what is there to say anymore.
….
growing up– life just never seemed to be about me. so I thought I could drift on the couch in front of the tv
unnoticed, and un-noticing — the bargain I made for not knowing how to get attention or connect.
….
==fountain of tooth
++more nonsense. wait a minute
––are you saying anything?
==again with the questions? why all the questions?
++are there certain answers you are hoping for?
––yes. maybe.
==I want the answer that says
it’s o.k. Just the way it is.
……
Panthers again.
Deep dark panthers.
Shocking panthers.
Sleek graceful panthers.
Panthers of longing for tenderness
and affection.
……
Sugar in the blood, a celebration.
Fire in the brain, a complication.
Afternoon so sleepy, and maybe a nap.
Who is running the world
in my absence?
……..
Swirling blurprint of destitution.
Somnambulism among the clerics and hospitals.
Excuses in bulk and random quantities.
Gone fishing, for instance––or––
I didn’t know.
…….
Rain, they say.
I’m planning my fedora.
I’m making an appointment
with my trench coat.
And I’ll wear my grubby boots.
Rain, so rare
in the Texas state.
Like a gift of tears,
like a breath of oxygen.
I’ll count the raindrops
as they hit the roof
and name them
one by one,,,
say hello and good-bye.
I’ll give each one an message
to give to the ocean,
if they make it that far. . .
it will keep me quite busy,
thousands of raindrops
each with their mouth open
laughing as they fall.
The birds will drink
some of them, and the gutters
will drink some,,,
but the lucky ones
will go into the trees,
far from the roads.
Or, right into the river,
right into the river
when they fall.
for the muse alesiacher
.
my head is full of
lava and candles.
I’m the sweet monkey
in the parade at dawn.
I formulate sentences
with nothing to say.
I strike out in
all directions at once.
I’m the ruby resting
on the neck of the Princess.
I’m a box of nothing
in an empty boat.
I’m a shattered chandelier that fell from the ceiling
as you walked up the stairs.
I am everything that is reaching for you
from across the room.
I’m the cat that shows up from
nowhere and disappears.
I am a conundrum inside an enigma
driving a race car on a moebius strip.
The next grapefruit I eat will hopefully be a
pomegranate.
I can’t spell my shoe size
and am forever barefoot
shuffling across the silver floor
of truth.
No matter how long I watch her, or hear her smoky voice,
or listen to her hot words, while her lips caress the language,
or how closely I watch her dance, and swing her hair around––
she is like a beautiful mystery, forever unfolding,
like watching the ocean~~wave after wave, from infinity to
infinity, luscious, dripping, ripe like swollen fruit.
