Out the Other
The spangled hippie callouses the crowd with
"Sage and mystic" truths.
A punk behind his band "blares rowingly" into
Waterfalls of audience flooding
our basement.
The "cow-colored cat" walks straight and, in
keeping with the small "rights of passage,"
takes it.
But a "rat lives in the oven" now.
Our quixotic landlord mentions briefly "the
Eviction" and too well we know.
"No body here" speaks pity for the spate of
degrading situations and
the dishes mount again.
Our "rotting trash crescendos" in its
volume of leftovers.
No body angers for the flies that've
caught up in our business.
The "Tree of Paradise" needs pruning.
"In love," our passing burns more oft than
in our hatred's "smoking" plumes.
These corners cube the brief delights in
our giggling, "cacophonous reaching"
and turgid wants of "fancy, yet"
damn "we are not going" anywhere and
"we should really" do it and
"This is all" our fault
just looms.
This house can talk and it still says
"nothing."
Before Woman
Better yet, egg implied, we may yet rest for the best time!
I turned over to find my companion trawling along,
he had gotten out, he was climbing out, he will go out the raft
to swim besides.
To let you stretch out, the man conveyed.
Was I so special? Am I so special? Will I be special?
To egg? To man?
I guess I was yolk.
Egg was my raft and the man was the waters and I was a babe
turning before birth.
And the sun pooled down like glaciers bursting with welcome
and called out to me:
Hatch into my arms!
The man let go his hands and I wafted out
and down the river with the beckoning sunshine
light upon my mind.
My shell fractured lovingly, without haste.
And there I was, my face revealed truly,
in star vapor
before the sun took me into arms.
Smooshy Moon
The sovereignty of you slips. Can anything be managed? The reigning alignment of your focus oscillates. Brash idealism! Cardinal puddle. Kinky queen? Six units of semi-soft sandalwood-scented waxes. Dawning truth? Twilit vestiges of small talk, churning in parched wobbling. Your good ideas seem more inert than usual. Your feelings stop fluttering when you put a word on it. You can compromise with neither clock nor compass. Nothing can be managed now. Can you or can you not command the water?