for the muse c.
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
I can’t spell my shoe size
and am forever barefoot
shuffling across the silver floor.
like a butterfly in the wind
like a sailboat in a hurricane
I want to begin.
I look for a compass
and imagine a map.
And wonder if it matters
because I could sure use a nap.
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.
upside down in reality’s playpen.
swinging on the monkey bars of everyday dreams.
flowing with the notion of the motion of the ocean––
rocking steady and sweet in the heartbeat
of cosmic love.
Just drinking my head on straight this season and then I’m just trying to keep it together and going straight line quick turnaround quit walking backwards you know I just want you to do big circles you’re going really big circles from the spirals where I’m ever evolving out was a little bit you know then maybe going straight line once in a while because I got to keep my feet moving forward and like I wanted to a lot of things so much energy in a day and I get worn out really fast and then also watching TV and everything goes haywire I just don’t really like watching the TV anymore just leave it outside
diari unui mgeni.
Excuse me miss which way were you talking when you were walking backwards inside my door I’d like to know if you were leaving or coming in because you were moving towards the living room but often backwards like you were leaving then you carried those candlesticks to the bedroom and put on a negligée so I figured you were staying and put on some soft music so we were dancing around on the carpet (cutting-the-rug) a little bit I can’t remember any problems anymore can’t remember.
time with fuzzy edges.
time leaking linearity.
sitting on an airplane one afternoon.
on my way home from visiting my father,
who was finishing his life, and would be gone
in a few months.
I’d been looking through photos of my father
when he was a child.
I could see him as a child, and I could see him
as the man who was my father when I was a child,
and I could see him as he was then, a man
preparing to say good-bye.
I was sitting on the plane looking at all the other
passengers. We all woke up somewhere that morning.
Groggily. Knowing we would travel. And we would all
fall asleep somewhere that evening. Cozy. Having arrived.
Now we were in the air.
I could see them all as they were when they were babies,
and I could see them all as the people they were right then,
and I cold see them all in the future somewhere,
leaving their bodies behind.
What is time but a practical and ridiculous way of slicing
tiny slices from a lovely round cake that we could enjoy
just as well, if not better, by keeping it whole, and sharing
all the moments, each and every, now and always, as one.