Fine lines that walk
Here to there,
Little devils dancing
I’ve got the eyes of
A loaded gun,
Underwear and panties
The land of sun,
Emptiness and hollowness
Buildings look bigger when I’m not moving.
When I can sit and stare and observe
How ominous they behave
Sitting there, beyond.
I understand how they get there;
Months of toiling and clanging and
Larger than life machinery hoisting up
More than just imaginations.
I understand they fulfill some eager desires
And transplant thousands of civilians
Into one common – or at least proxy’d – goal.
But I still sit and wonder as they tower in the vista,
Waving at me motionless with wires and reflections.
I try to count the windows and cubbies and features
That line the facade, but my eyes have become
Weak with vastness.
It’s amazing to see the intricacies,
How erecting smaller things
Like a shelf or a picture frame
Can flummox the wisest of scholars.
Complexity of alignment,
How marvelous these structures.
When I wave my goodbyes they smile back.
They all let me know how nice it’s been to
Share these moments together.
Billowing out from beyond my belief,
Strangling the storm windows
Which turns me blank with divert.
I cross out
Little errors that shape my tomorrow
Without missing a beat.
Yet here I am,
Following little sounds
Towards curious places
And letting my soul speak and be heard.
How curious these rays become.
In mid autumn I enjoy how the sun comes out
And in it’s wildest most passionate moments
It doesn’t have the all consuming power
Mid-summer sun has.
A t-shirt with an easy breeze you’re not yearning for,
But accepting – more acknowledging, with a sort of humility,
Knowing that in a few short months
The green-green vibrancy will explode
That brings out mom’s hand-made mittens
And warm cups of tea.
Little kids are all dressed in green.
They’re wearing foreign flags and
Scrambling about in some kind of
It makes me think of the years I spent in ‘Nam
– And incidentally a delicious restaurant
Round the corner from here.
Chopsticks between eyes and arrows
And fabrics that tell me not to bring these new habits home.
I’m watching them with curiosity
As they make their way about the grounds
Busier than all the ants of the world.
Hands flailing in some random forms of symmetry
That builds to eruptic culminations.
And then I get busy and pants with arrows pointing South
Cross my paths leaving home-job manicured
French poodles pissing about,
Confusing the tiny combat warriors.
I alter the states of my mind
To allow the gusts of thought pass
As if they had just become mingled
In a thousand cobwebs
That had secrets and truths
And memories long ago
Been buried in my parents back yard
Along side Angus, the family dog,
And Winne, our brown and white guinea pig.
This is where the present comes from,
Shifting from side to side
Hardened pieces of driftwood
And last years decaying perennials.
Wind may bend and curve my states of emotional madness,
My shifting moods and sands and magical feathers
That answer all of my questions,
But time roots all of these gusts
Into solid memories of the old arbutus
Clinging to mind when I close my eyes
And let the wind run through
These states of my mind.
There’s an undercurrent of pressure
Rolling around like two dollars
In a drunk-night saloon.
I’m making headway on flesh insight
With no time to spare.
Gin’s hovering around
Whispering sweet nothings in my ear
And two dollars keep talking to me.
Two lone shooting guns
Winking at me from the corner of the room.
I’m lost in a swimming pool
And walking down main street
Whistling a sad song to a lover
Who’s missing from my arm tonight.
It’s a long walk fishing out these memories
With my flat E ringing through
Cobblestones and lampshades,
Dubious shadows I’m not stopping to
Make friends with.
I’ve made my peace here tonight.
My undercurrent of pressure
Hanging low with the full moon
That’s grabbing at my coattails
As I make my way toward the exit sign.