Work in Progress Beyond the Grounding

I take to thee adventure

without leaving my couch.

And your pictures are huge.

What i wouldn't give to explore;

every day you share.

There is a part in me

that has to be held in place;

to not just take off;

to stop at the stratosphere;

that must be tied down.

The dreamed-upon other worlds

or planets;

the places like this

that only exist in images

-makes me realize

it is enough right here;

yet that it is right out there,

waiting. . . .

But Oh how temptation burns

for a reason

to have nothing

holding me back.

The condensing focus;

a quite effective writing tool;

grounding the audience;

works only when

you're not in my shoes.

So maybe these things

get ruined

-thee instant I step

into March mush;

but with distortions,

alternating static,

ears still ripped in frisson rifts;

warmed scents

worming nostrils;

flowing purls,

finite crevices

creating themselves

as the vanishing ice

forms popcorn vacancies.

Salamanders pour,

kerosene lingers

from the roughed-in

portions.

Tilted, untying, melting,

digging in beyond

and the everlasting frozen 

grounding,

the excavator clunks.

The thaw gouges.

Steeel, motor, jaggedly

hurtles rears

into the chain links,

shattering,

releasing,

setting free

the euphoria of

the places you implore.

Here I dream.  

There I go.