I'm an oldster wading
a hearken harking
I like fantasizing about her
I have a lot in mind
saucy and limber beauty
dark eye liner
swirled round wrought iron
a corner fortune tell
I am often dreaming...
I think I always mean to please
intended package fantasy pocket hope
wrap it in drunken nostalgia
and remember the smells
of where I am at, at the time
though time is irrelevant pulse me
I only count the worn skim surfactant-ing
the menisci of wobble plans masking chaos
I know I'm not the only one that keeps forgetting
on purpose those sounds that liquefy matter...
we move stone says the rain and wind...drum trumpet
bellow rabbit hole balcony chorus replies, and thank
goodness you do, for in the how things, are carved by
eons of cloud, mountain and sea, rituals of random
give things, each a name in the odd non-linear
frequencies of imagery formed behavior...
the colors and forms hands stretching from behind
walls thin membrane pushing the coverings of paint,
paper and cloth dark middle room old brownstone
the mushrooms were strong, I stumbled staring at
the way it seemed everyone was looking at me
I knew to stop staring at the holes in the places
my nose didn't know...these sound and sight new
stimuli, randomized pattern elegance as a single cell
interlude...didn't understand at first
the need to be between the shadow earth and sky...
the time for divination
too many folks here
inside a harvest party
ghost chamber deep echo
high ceiling flesh surrender
bone swill and dance mode...
this can fuzzy my circumstances
I chance most everything
for a cab home and
jaunt to the roof
to bark and hiss
her scent very well...