March 5, 2014

long tracking shot...

photograph by Winston Link ©

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

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

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

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 

the horse-light stars talk to us
tell us about ways ancients went on
divine, human, same time pollinators
transversal mutagenic thirst

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


No comments:

Post a Comment