About a quarter to 4, on a Saturday morning
not bothering to bother.
the smosh, smosh, of her soft boots, and mine.
straining streetlamps. shot from the Earth and leaned over us,
glaring, with thier all-knowing, palesour, flickering "how do you
do"s.
a procession of whispering steel...
...all the way to Intersection 7...
the fluff of our coat sleeves, brushing smoothly together,
She spun around, our glowing world, her scarf shuffling about...
Her right boot was first to leave the curb.
My attentions, cast upon ripples, which took root at her sole,
then snagged... pulled out, by her coiled glance.
Her mittened hand came from her pocket, unlocked, and folded, with mine.
The fabrics of our handclothes, together, clenched, warm, soaring,
feet beneath us making flight, across a shimmer.
The curb rose again, below us, announcing our arrival,
slowing our dance down, to match the pace of pavement
Our fingers held on, for only a fraction more, screaming pleases
...to hold nothing but Saturday morning coldness.
I slid my hand into the lonely hush of my pocket and glanced away .
Bewobblin'
Just what words which, weave with bewobbled ways?
In hues cast clues, past strewn bescatter blues and grays
Crafted with tact, molded to smoulder
The three way pact, beholden in boulder
A shoulder to lean on, a shimmy to shackle
A knee close cut, with beamings of laughter
Inside with the outcasts, tastes of the pastes plates
White washed with cold cream, fool flipped on race hates
Captain Cro Magman, turns down the little tit
Beback on the cracky shaft, Besoothin' slip the glitter slit
Crispy with Shifty, a hamhock hot spleen louse
My grasped grouse loused, in the criminy house
A see saw say, and out with the lather
A ring rung day, phones cloning up the wack attack
My hands see straight, past the limits of manners
A hole in my soul, toasted crones on the gutter cup
Fast cash pockets, a swirl be unfurled
My caskets of castanets be happy and nappy
Shattered windows and rocks, cold rolls of fold lands
Ticks and Tocks, and cantaloupe from cans
Triple quick clutched, with the candy hands
Befriends be like magic, and rings on the cherry
A crisp cusp of curvature, exploratory very!
Til Senses Fused Taut
Left footprints all morning
Searching for solution, answers, traces of reality
Till senses fused taut
Stopped me stillborn in my tread marks
Trailing spires split fiery column dilate
Each word, thought, glance
Cast past crisp bare cool crests of dewy air
Lost in shock skittish eyes pryed wide
lost in startled imaginings
And in these words, if called words at all, pronounced themselves in echo discreet…
"Time, a target, marriage of engineering and craft,
an image mirage
Honed and molded, held by mans hands to be
Shone recoiled, mirrored pools of past cast glances
Between two illusionary parameters
Coil Poised Tunes, scaled slippery, focused pitch
Simple melody, chance to dance, filtered through
Scalpel slit voice, of focused phonemes
Each chord split, slink and twisted, linked firmly true
Down the middle, peeled inside and out
Passed through course of yielding vision,
Lay bare to claim, to grasp, to be
Jointed forms of frantic fiery globes
Sea and skies and planet's paths collide
Saturated clusters of saccharine chains
Interminable centers, grasping for circumference
Arms outstretched of core heart footing
Woven whispers on skin of encased pacing forms,
Stitched to be me, one among many,
Prancing columns of delicate catastrophe"
