flowers knocking on the door
dragging me out to the street
down to the corner to the
coffee shop and then stopping.
what? I asked them. what?
I was still in my pajamas.
I didn’t even have shoes on,
just socks, (that were all soggy
because it rained the night before).
what is this all about? I asked.
the flowers just stared at me,
silent, emitting a pleasant fragrance.
I didn’t even know what kind
of flowers they were… I’d think
they were daffodils, then look away,
then look back and they’d be
roses, or tulips, or orchids…
on and on.
they were flowers. mainly. flowers.
and they had knocked on my door
and dragged me down the street to
the coffee shop and then stopped.
I figured there must be a reason for them
to go to all this trouble. I stood there,
in my pajamas and my soggy socks and
ever-changing bouquet of flowers,
scratching my head. Finally, I lit
a cigarette. and the flowers kept staring
at me. and then, five minutes later,
I walked back home and put them in
a venetian vase.
go set up a rhythm then ignore it.
go for sunshine
go for laughter
go for homo sapiens
their dna is in transition
happiness seems to heal it
go for the gold ring
go for bliss
go another mile maybe
go for the kiss
go delicious sunrise calling me to the day
go high noon pulling frenzy from my blood
go sunset soothing me reflecting my demise
go darkest dark night to help make me wise
go all birds and ravens let me hear your song
go all cats and stealth agents whose muscles and nerves never fray
go all critters microcosmic and gigantic
such a laugh for humans to think they are the stars
of the show.
go into the secret place of
greatest sorrow and joy
to swim like an otter.
santa rosa, nm
love, then. then, love.
and then. long pause. and
gnashing of teeth. spinning circles.
and then hanging
upside down in the vampire cave. wrapped up
in a spider web. and then. the airplane
falling from the sky. or taking off. and the whale
swallowing you. and darkness.
darkness without shadow. and then.
a little light. and then. love. love. and then.
hiding under the covers. spilling coffee on the pillow.
laughing at the squirrels outside. and then.
long kiss. all washed away into rush of swirling light.
no time. sensation flood of spirit. body. a grounding.
and then. love. love. and then. another day
to be in
Home is melting inside my heart.
Or, home is frozen in my veins.
Or, which home. Which way is home.
Is home a place I left––or a place I haven’t arrived.
I met a gypsy on the road, and she called herself Home.
She said that was her name. Home.
I asked her, if she could live anywhere in the world,
where it would be.
She said, inside her own body––that’s what she learned.
I asked her if that’s where she lived.
She said, sometimes, but she was still learning, so she kept moving,
kept traveling, until she felt like a wave, only a wave, in the ocean.
She asked where I wanted to live.
I said I felt like someone aimed a shotgun at a map of the world and
pulled the trigger––there were about a hundred bulls eyes––but,
trying to pick one place . . . I couldn’t explain it. . .
I asked her waht she did when she felt lonely, or got sick.
She said all that wasn’t real and it was just confusion so she kept traveling
until it passed.
I asked her what her last name was, where her parents were from,
all that stuff.
She said her name was Home.
She said her last name was Inside.
Home Inside. Then she grinned, and said,
unless the weather is really nice, then it’s Outside.
She didn’t answer anything about the other stuff.
She might have had a brother named Road Hawk,
but she was vague about all that.
Then Home went her way and I went mine.
When I try to live inside my body it feels like ten cats
are fighting each other inside a paper bag.
When I try to live inside my body it says
it wants to be the ocean.
And my body wonders about that other home. . . the one
we are called to when our time here is done.
But for now––
Home is melting in my heart.
Or home is frozen in my veins.
I don’t know where I am supposed to go.
Or if I am supposed to stay.
Crow was eating Scarecrow’s brain.
Scarecrow didn’t care.
He didn’t have a brain.
He was a big stuffed mannequin without
a feeling anywhere.
Or, so they thought.
Enough time standing in a cornfield,
watching the sun rise and set,
watching the stars wheel above,
will change anyone.
Eventually, surprising them both, Scarecrow said,
“Crow. What are you doing?”
Then ruffled his feathers, and said,
“So. That’s why they call you Scarecrow––
you don’t even know if you’re here, or
if you’re not.”
Crow flew away.
I invited my Shadow over for tea––
it showed up about five minutes late, and said it preferred the whiskey.
I opened my closet and let the skeletons out––they were happy to have the tea––
although some of them preferred the whiskey, and quite a few of them
wanted to smoke.
Eventually, all that got sorted out, and everyone was relaxing.
One of the skeletons said, “O.k., that’s it. We’re not going back inside that closet.”
I said, “Fine, I understand. You don’t have to.”
My Shadow was laughing about something.
I said, “What’s so funny?”
It said, “Nothing. Don’t mind me,” and grinned mysteriously, (and annoyingly),
while it finished its second glass of whiskey, and poured itself another.
I glanced at him, but decided not to pry.
I said, “O.k. You probably wonder why I invited you all out to the living room.
It is a living room, after all, and I’d like you to get more comfortable in it.
More comfortable with the concept of living, in general.”
The skeletons were whispering and giggling, pretending to cross their legs and
sit up straight, and act all proper. My Shadow had talked one of them into a game of
backgammon, and kept doubling the cube and rolling Elevens.
No one seemed to be listening, or even very interested in what I had to say.
I decided to pour myself a glass of whiskey, and, yes, to light a cigarette.
From the looks of things, it was going to be a long night.
(to be continued, perhaps). . . .
time was too tired to turn one day
time was too tired to keep moving.
like a broken sunset on a torn page
in a lost land. time thought it didn’t matter.
time was thirsty and hungry and wanted
to rest. to stop. to stop. and think.
but time had nothing to think about.
it was everything all at once.
time was angry. why should it keep going.
why should it turn and turn so relentlessly.
would anyone notice its steadiness.
would anyone notice it quit.
mr. bones stood up in the bottom of the gulch.
he held up his had and made a circling motion.
crow came down from the sky and landed on
mr. bones index finger. they stared at each other.
without time, there was nothing, not even air.
that was the first time that time did not exist.