August 1, 2017

anew-ed, a nude soul, rendered you, me, our humanity

I focus on sounds
like the coffee
being made
am reminded
out here, readin' writin'
we are all

infinite insides
with things
we are, being
that which
we observe


nose knows
sight more
than eyes

how we lie
is what supplies
our paints, compass
easel and canvas
we do what demands us
to be still enough
to see our portrait by listening
to the scents
of popular versus instinctual
touch and taste

and when we make hasty
declarations of being, it softens us

dead diligent hearts hear hears-ted
and we again, are fooled by folly
forgetting, constructing universes to our liking
often destroys images we hold sacred or dear

so now back to the show
of hands, cards on table forth plot devised  
latent to manifest entanglements
we are now, later in the poem

we are viral possibilities, pleas pleased
so we read our lines and read again, words begin begging-ly
leading action to melt into the architecture of nothing

set and setting is
no vantage gained
without pain, we say silently
this is always true
perspectives gleaned
riding mostly amidst womb chaos 

are forays that can relay joy 
but we acknowledge
they can be so sharp
they're not felt
as entrance wounds
and just their exits
are what we frame 

the moving pictures
of you, me
fill little theaters
fingers spun dials
barker harking

almost county fair time
crackling frequencies
like an old radio
we occasionally
would listen to
while white noise
watching, hoppers
in the tall grass
late summer
on the rise


1 comment:

  1. cracking frequencies
    or tuning into frequencies
    there is a disturbance in the air
    static reception, does that make it easier
    I wonder as I dream safely under the stars
    how far will reality stretch before it breaks

    always good to read you posts, they always expand my mind
    I sometimes become part of your poem, lost in nouns and verbs