life is fire
whether i am sound asleep
or totally wired
life feels more like going down a river
than driving down a road
with a map.
one way or another the river will take me
completely unaware of what is between now
The main thing about being alive
is, no one knows.
alligators lick the shore
near the lawn of the outdoor party
lightning bugs & cicadas & lanterns
of all colors other small lights
scattered magical all around
inhibitions drop like clothes
in a dressing room
& have one last look in the mirror––
hands apples falling/catchtes gravity plump/ripe luscious fruit
pommegranite/plum ripe for plucking oh so lucky/crispy day
dissolving in the sweet/october sun coming undone/another fall
another autumn – another spell not/quite broken – relinquish me and
make it solemn/bereft of tears like a downtown gollum/up by
the cliffs/down by the waves everyone so thirsty as they crawl
from their graves – oh halloween – oh day of the dead – oh life always
unwinding the story/unravelling in my head … when i was an
apple i knew you as the tree, everything i have now is like i am
falling/too ripe to pluck when you set me free.
I know nothing––
I have lived in its house for many years.
I have floated in its starless infinite liquid black ink with no compass and
no clue where I might be drifting, or if I am in motion at all.
I know nothing––
its sense of humor at unlikely times,
it’s sudden bursts of brilliance and peace,
its terors and night-sweats and lack of light that is darker then space,
darkness-beyond-darkness that takes you to the highway in the rain,
makes you want to live again,
makes you want to roll the dice with your one last gasp,
your last arbitrary wish, your last lucky penny,
roll the dice as you are falling
even if you may never see them land,
or know if they’ll come up lucky 7, or snake-eyes, or craps,
even if you know you may never know
let your shadow do the walking
little horse race
let your shadow do the talking
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
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.
rain erase me and clean my face as i stare into the sky as you fall.
rain come find me and bring your clouds the sun is burning into my skull.
rain let me taste you let me drink you and become you carry me with you to the sea.
rain help me call you help me see you and dance with you , your tiny drops all over me.
rain my sweet sister , my brother , my mister , my mama , my saviour , my disaster.
rain. yes. welcome. welcome sweet rain. it has been so long. my skin needs you.
rain come again and stay a little longer and wash me away and bring me back in
from the rain.
now inside the thunder whispers of another room.
disjointed arabesque of mountainous fortitudes.
wallover sychophants like Houdini penumbra.
whichever way upside-down space is everywhere.
fire burns always since time began counting.
everyone loves a disguise when running from the law but
no one can run from the silver lined epiphany of our deliverance.
(senseless maybe? i had to look up
half the words after I’d written them to
see what they meant, or fit, or get a clue
to what I was talking about, but, I’m not
sure I did… but I’m not sure I didn’t either).
outside in the dark
morning is blooming again.
my sleep is fitful
why isn’t it friendlier––
it is so restless . . .
where does it want to be?
october mood . how many bubbles exploding on this sleepy day expanding
chilly and grey (a real october) / and the surface of things is reflection
it goes back / it goes behind / it goes forward
into unknown crevices and surprises /
sometimes like a lightbulb / it is gone all at once /
meloncholy ambulance of thought careening down a rain soaked street (in the middle of night a weary passenger in the back (on oxygen) (passed out) then fading in (then passed out))
eyelids like translucent curtains of blood (barely separating inner from outer)
behind the screen / backstage / busy people wonder how to finish the show /
the lead player fainted / in the middle of act one /
––in the audience / a jittery impatience / while thoughts of a wasted evening / (and a monetary refund) / and their own mortality invades them.
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