long tracking shot...

photograph by Winston Link ©

kettle popped neutrino mouths with lots of butter (valence shell game ode to Summer)

summer

there are many faces of quiet ringing out the dead

eve, adam and the primitive ideas we have of our humanity

our crawled vine appropriate chances

what we’ve taken when presented with clocks

and mechanical bleed, what measures of centuries

and generations have we ordered approximate to ambulation

soul scratching surface diving dumpster no sense nonsense mad

summer

we are parlor tricks at night sometimes, clean sheets

and big Sunday dinner off color awkward conversations

mostly visits, picnics and the beach

sea tide call cutting under the yellow starlight

of our very own sun beneath its milk and aperture

we are bend lovely arcs of chaos ramble

we catch seat gravity 

grace-exit with pirouettes

we silhouette our indefinable hungers

always a phone booth too late for super

sometimes we go to the drive-in movie theaters instead

summer

are we lilt velvet rebel music

every soft thing we steal

are we the poplar seeds turned poems

all around us, we sense by lot of cars

inside muffled anticipations

we turn their echo languages

into tiny hammers on strings

summer

we surrender

every rhythmic asymmetry birth wave

before another triple feature begins

or the Indian blanket going over lap and steel

wants the engines as we do 

still pinging wondering if we too 

will eat too much too fast too unaware 

summer

the horse-light stars talk to us

tell us about ways ancients went on

divine, human, same time pollinators

transversal mutagenic thirst

summer

where are you

I have questions

when are you coming back

why is my brain too often only

convoluted fatty tissue computer

dependent on entertainment

every moment every keystroke

every stimulus filled

with something more

whereas my heart

will beat you to death

by its absence

my soul says

remember nothing

I heard the way home again

is written after the end

while the credits roll

EJR ©