It is only a recoil of the reflexes followed by the relaxation of a newly relieved muscle.
A relic remaining
Released after renewal
Continues
Wrecking me impeccably.
Me in a You-Howl.
Walk it Off*
Category: Circles & Squares
Light panther Eyes included
The reenlivened stone panther turning to moss.
Her eyes shine.
Even the car’s breeze is
friendly on days like todays.
And, i cannot tell dust specks
from pollen from
cottonwood nor
seed from insect.
The sun stings.
Disaffected is not unaffected as much as dispassion does not necessarily
imply apathy.
Expelling exhalations
I pass through two gates.
My breath manages
to hit me in my
own stomach.
White fuzzies fill my peripheral.
A busy broad.
Little bobbing heads under water. Learning to feed the self.
Cue that cricket queue ready to play
With legs rolling over like car
engines.
The dragon grew a mohawk.
And, a man passes, reading the same piece of paper that I passed him
reading a week ago.
Sweet thing, don’t freeze in my prescence.
Why did the racoon cross the road?
I dunno either, but one sure did last night.
Right in front of me.
A dog panting on the trail
Makes me wonder:
How does that muzzled dog sweat?
Looking down whilst standing on a bridge over the salmon ladder,
You see
You can jump down from above
And into the sky above?
I heard you playing accompanied accordian in the parking lot down the trail.
He was playing real good for free.
I know because you could only tip him in
An unlabeled box.
Howl Maverick.
Acephalous
The sun shines when the rain dance resumes.
Limbs ampersand branches coyly sign “hi” on tidal-waving breezes.
“Hi. How are you? Why do you keep that dog muzzled?….Oh, I see.”
Sometimes, we hold certain truths to be self-evident.
Sometimes we deny them.
Others and selves; same and unsanne.
Obscure, absolve, aquit.
“Atone, louse.” That is not what she said.
Surely.
“I’m a lousy gal, sometimes too,” she actually
Said.
A Sunny Resumption
[suddenly (the guitar sound _i hear in my cans_swallows)
hard]
.
Fallen
Or placed?
The best preserved tree.
Shooting down fuzzily.
Psyche-
Delphic
Spots
of colo(u)r.
Saw.
Jumping mouse
Flits under the dragon’s
Mouth
uncaptuted here, hear?
Shots of light. ( Not too )
Briefly.
Ready to root ball.
A /w/hole in my head or
A…?
Needed the same, regardless?
I still need
The gortex, eyelet boots to
Support the bum
Ankle.
Sorta Rhymes
The inclination, of the simple persuasion, was insinuation by mild-mannered, kind-natured manipulators.
TheWoods Set for Rain Yesterday
Found on the asphaulted exit, fluttering in the breezy preparation.
Impatiently.
Coral, from below, meet the leaf that fell above
On the same path.
Another near ninety degree angle.
Still grossly a gauche.
The last embers of the dragon
Who hibernates through the summer?
Still grinning at the pass.
Too close
But
comfortable.
A tighter
Right angle to chance. Found.
Yellow
In the spider’s veins.
The sun still shines.
Sister Dream Frag
Just awoke from dream of walking through the woods with my sister.
She told me I cited a quote when I told her: I don’t hate what hurt me; i hate myself for hurting.
A line I thought I made up about a month ago.
Seemed common enough because I read too much but the look in her eyes made me wanna hate myself for it.
We talked again about “simulation theory” and I snapped awake wondering for the first time:
If this is a simulation, of-what is being simulated exactly?
Honest question.
Updated a couple of hours later.
I box things up.
I find this odd card.
True.
Forested
A leaf paved over.
A flower in parts.
A bit of purple in bloom,
enabled and barely shielded from above
By what is below.
Yesterday’s feather.
Yesterdays’s feather
today.
Balance and proportion
Foaming for seasonal salmon roe.
A welcoming en-trance
A good exit.
Form Returns
Herringbone does not yawn
Fuzzy balance
of positive and negative space
on a cape that I drape around me
to step outside.
The grey morning opens wide
And inhales me into its reality.
Here we go again.
/
I fell into fitted sleep last night
while listening to to
to the British “Sir” talk consciousness.
I read two of your books.
A late night compatriot who noticed
the emporer was still naked.
(“A new theory,” he said, “not another reinterpretation.”)
S/he should borrow
My houndstooth.
/
I awoke to your unannounced reentry.
There is nothing to take, hurt, or steal
but me
But, you could still lock the door
When you do leave.
What I heard
Young man,
you predict myself to my face.
Giggle-snarl.
And also, you may be right.
But, hush and do not assume
you just keep those precocious eyes closed,
precious.
Pressingly and curiously
like a street legal switchblade,
a switchboard operation.
Useless matter does not
deserve smashing
just a quick slashing.
Diamond cutters crying with
those backseat jumpercables.
I missed the film but
I want to watch the movie.
My cellular telephone
likes to automagically
Prompt me.
It told me, after I typed /i/,
‘don’t get internet culture.’
Howl.
Didn’t you k/no/w the anxious
(ancients) taught music
And, invented time
For others?
They were just counting to eight,
Again and again, and, it
Turns out that this moves time forward
And that this everlasting, temporary
Retrograde is the forgotten remembrance.
This time
The blue specks return at
this time of day.
Scepters of spectres.
Spectators of the Spectra.
Speculators and crusty prospectors.
Gold merchants running along-
side the train.
The Highwaymen will
see to
them soon enough.
Yelling: always pay yourself first.
The only people not fearful of
such speak
are snickering kids.
The immortal ones.
How old do you feel most
of-the-time?
The sun will set in the next
five minutes to five hours.
It gets
Tricky.
The salt is gone.
Now, I see how large this place is.
The placelessness is almost too big.
Me and these ghosts make good company.
The chorizo finishes.
Eggs and a bottle of white
Microwave hood fan
Setting two.
Discounted granola.
Time to cut meat from casing.
An unused balcony.
The window with the looking-glass.
The other window that is looking-glass.
I drove the perimeter of a street festival.
Ludicrous.
People formed a line at the
Automatic Teller Machine.
I could have walked for my eggs.
But, the milk would
Have gotten spilt.
I arrive home.
My salt is gone
Summer Maize
I made my hair sit straight yesterday.
But, summer has its ways
Of sweating my scalp.
Salt and the occasional breeze.
“You should write about that,” said the girl,
Who stopped for a smoke,
About something else
Entirely.
“Thanks.”
Kind.
A little
Shock ti
Power.
Speak-easys and
Music without lyrics.
Talk of narcissism
And, I wonder,
Do narcissists know they are as such?
The dog was all fur, and
presumably
Sweaty as howl, too.
Fur ball coat
Dandelion-white.
The masters smiled
And said, “her name”
Meant /hair/ in another language.
Doubling the word
In affection and affectation.
Cars pull u-turns,
To go to the street festival.
They hold traffic while invisible things
cross the street.
Huh, huh?
I saw the last five yards of your memory.
You were simply sleepwalking
Lucidity from insomnia.
Asleep and awake at the same time.
Rest here.
For a moment.
You are still
In the field.
Come here but close your eyes.
And onto now
Redressed
Address
Add rest
Legs crossed
Edge of bed.
Next move…..
Proof of I.D.
It is infinitely easy to identify with someone
(but not any-body?).
So you hate cool, swift breezes on hot days?
I don’t.
I leaf notes to future me.
Encryption ain’t the new
Steganographia.
They remind me to
Remember right.
Write.
This is a thread to me.
Leaves about a spine.
Fluttering
For no-one but page
turners.
I slept in
I slept until three p.m.
Because I could-no usual m.o.
In the pac NW 7 a.m., 3 p.m., and nine p.m. all
Look the same
Waking from dreams to remember
This is the one from which you do not know how to wake.
I imagine the world can
See and know what my mind holds
In that state.
Like there is nothing to doubt
Nothing to fear.
The cat slept on my feet.
They were not cold.
The gray summer sky
Resembles the colors of your silent eyes.
I slept by scraps I scrawled for you.
I slept by a bit of wrapping paper from a gift
Half a year old.
Oh howl, you make me sentimental.
To ask for what you hope
And to wait.
As hard as crying non-sad tears must appear to observers.
The sea is soft today.
But, í can always find a reason to smile.
I.e. “cheesecloth”
Sobriquet que ridiculoso.
Like young skin
You are smooth
Like young skin.
It is this present, separating the two.
Coarse still.
Contained infinitely
Keeps
You always new.
Presently
So í present me as í will and wilt be.
Your grains grew.
Became rough?
Hard to go against.
A backwards shove.
A cat pet the wrong way.
Your backwards glance, surreptitiously noticed.
I told you
I pay attention to your punctution.
Paints dried as fast as grass grew.
But, never as fast as the weather changed.
Everything happened so quickly
In slowness.
Living with punctuated equilibrium ages me in bursts.
The course grain leaves red rubs on skin like indian burns from childhood.
Asked for and still bemoaned.
Like saying: I miss you.
Dreamed
I ran with you in dreams last night.
There was a small bit of lace hiding a bit of my clavicle.
When you lifted it
The notation for
a song was below.
Then I remembered
The lyrics.
“Oh yeah.
I wrote this for you
Before we met.”
WrittenCasey 