October 19, 2015

slipping in...

slipping in 

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...

autumn is 
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 
to remember 
her scent very well...


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