Landscape W/ Red Roots

February 21, 2018

LANDSCAPE  WITH  RED  ROOTS

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Mangroves  exposed

I suppose  I’m still  within

Walking  trees?

I bet it’s the breeze exposed stalks

Meant deep in the loamy dirts

I Kick through my feet still walk.

Let go away from the vision’s skirts.

Toddle off,

To Twist over a vista he sees

To a view he can see, One he will see.

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chaim soutine

Chaim  Soutine’s–“Landscapes With Red Roofs”

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DOLLAR-STORE GLASSES

January 5, 2018

I wear dollar-store glasses
they help me work on perspective.
I live for nothing I can think of.  fact.
It’s suggested I might strive for focus.
In my day bed i might live
with one window & uncertainly my curtain cracked

I can wear one seventy five
On dollar-store glasses
I passed par for an old guy.
I’m far from passed, muy alive.
Tho’ she could present a good argument
Contesting that mad “muy” adjective.
I’d abstain again & again
And I’d hate to publicly substantiate

11-17-2005-07 Read the rest of this entry »

MUY GOOD JOKE

December 31, 2017

picasso is said to have said

“Art  is the lie that tells the truth”.

seems  if he did, seems valid.

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(Though  some tries  along these lines

can only shine as sly & slippery lies)

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His muy good joke/

& lucky for our sake/

Actually/  the accidental awaits

us/  Fog & smoke machines make

bonfire smoke signals rise up

until unreasonably  sound  Beauty clears/

Us holding the pen? we’re  without a net nor warm blanket.

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Sure, sweating stallions are dynamic

& may have beauty

but some  Clomp! the blossoms

god & me made.

clods  now

CONCISION IN THE COPSE

February 10, 2017

 

 

seattleoregon-sept-10-060

If I lost strict control  some

I could prick all billion bubbles

If I left  my lost  some

I could remangle my mumbles

‘Till concision  at any cost cums

I’d come  to untangle dareknots

‘Till a guilt spilt relief

Stains the air & remains there

 

AN AIR IN MIGHT MARSHES

January 28, 2017

 

 

The word on the street was repeatable.

That was then. Y’know, now  not so agreeable.

That word, that gist  in senseless sentences, that word

It just must be ignored.

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The sleepy  air  slipping right through the reeds there,

The night marshes where nightmares Stay as seeds  there.

The song, that mist of music meant to soothe, yes, songs

That must not be ignored.

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Upon  a  pond

Where big calm mists meet surfaces

Water bug clouds  dance down aways

And I stand to see through tree trances

This moon is broken enough to lend to substance

For  near and far bearings,  distances,

And  at first. existences.

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I swear here’s where the strings swell in

 

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(2 YRS BACK)

TRANSFIXION

June 20, 2016

I  can’t  transfix  my  P.O.V.

 

I  can’t  transfix  enough.

 

I  can  remix  some  sub dubbed  copy.

 

I’ll  crop  the  stills  until  they’re  still enough

BREATHING EXERCISES

June 12, 2016

 

 

She won’t roll away & not watch me.

Y’see, I won’t  seem to take,

When I dream (or wake).

to take  another Breath before

The scene fades, before

lights go up

then down  to more of a zoom.

She waits in our bedroom for me to resume.

II.

We went to go to a yoga class.

Where a barefooted, hairpleated group leader;

beautiful, and calmer than a

merciful last coma,

She insisted that our deep Breath is

the gist of all of it  (within, & out).

We rearrange the short & tall of it.

The Gist to change the depth, see,

of our sea of possibillity.

When we inhale

we rememorize  our own gods.

We exhale our hell.  barefoot.  on a mat.

Whew. To that.

III.

When I get to go to the Gulf of Mexico

This one will disrobe & run so,

I’ll try out the drink,  1st thing.

I’ll try not to think when I try to let go

&  sink when I deadman’s float all day,

into what I think of as a spiritual drift, in a way.

I’ll hold onto my Breath,

face down,

head down.

–   –   –   –   –

 

 

ONE WARNING

May 22, 2016

 

 

It’s not only at night

One ought to be quiet

So as not to .startle

A sleepwalking man

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So  you stay still

Mostly  I still do

I wouldn’t awaken

A sleepwalking man

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He’s steering past scenery

He’s deaf to the dreadful din

It’s as if imbedded in him

An old ghost holes up

And mostly he still goes

All lost.

He’s explosive

World wrecking

But mostly he’s expecting

All lost.

.

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.                                           (from 2010)