[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.
The inclination, of the simple persuasion, was insinuation by mild-mannered, kind-natured manipulators.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I did write something for you
before we met.
At the little theater you barely
Remember.
Painted stars on the roof
twinkled to indicate
the show was shortly
Underway.
A connoisseur versus a collector.
Coat-tailers and chasers
Partners in crime.
A trail-off of the trellis
Braided-up locks
Flow like tresses
Caught in bureaucratic
Lochs
Being and nothing
Ness
The dragon is impatient.
Selectively scorching leaves
Such as these
Fading embers still ablaze
Sparks off burned tar.
Shedding hair is ripped.
Old roots know where to look
And look gracefully.
A leaf suspended.
Not alit by wind.
Brambles
Steles revel as Black Pond evaporates.
A lean-to against a cut-down.
A greasy blender rubbed wrong.
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 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.”
The day ran past without a backwards wave.
I found myself, coffee in hand, at four p.m.
Dreams of the red whale re-meander through my mind.
Recall people asking what we do?
You would say: meander, me and her.
I would smile. I would try not to, and I would fail.
I smile right, exactly, now.
The whale was larger than a breadbox
But, smaller than a tidal wave.
Blood red. No variation in shades, as though block colored by a child.
You did not even consider dinner,
the whale said.
I do not want to eat.
Why not?
I don’t know.
Just say you are not hungry.
Would you eat me piecemeal
Or all at once?
Management of expextation.
R.N. looks at me from across the table and grins.
I know the answer.
I found a word on a notecard.
Assoil.
Present it between gritted teeth,
heavy lidded. Pleas
see before my snarl creeps back.
To acquit, absolve.
Solve Loose.
I call this word how we untangle each other.
You are Unmade and in need of collection.
Soft, sweet, slow.
Until inertia overcomes.
A harsh lunar body with love that annihilates
Your self-doubt ,
Ashames with kindness.
Pains with inelegant honesty.
You
Have
My attention and pulse,
sorrell.
Kept with you and resent but a moment ago.
And, I wonder where
we find ourselves
On this reading of what I just write to wrote?
To discern the coefficient of friction.
Re-scribed an umpteenth time.
For your inexorable sea, no doubt,
remains a’wave.
Unyielding. Relentless. Assiduous.
Paramour. Swoon over and give us some room.
Aragon and lavender, salty mists of sea tides
Aroma wafting through the scene.
A contention that new tangential elaboratorations
exert mild pressure.
“You are uncomfortably comfortable,” whispered with gravity.
So came I, cloaked.
Amateur ingenue
Feminine made anew.
I sow.
Sew you a pillow case all the colo(u)rs of Joseph’s coat.
You will dream of Argonauts. You will watch legion run
head first off the cliff.
They seek demise, but you have desire and
A dexterous handle with an au gauche moniker.
There is power in having a title, because to have is
To hold(,) dear.
To become the multitudes contained
within my circles.
The circles I contain.
The circles containing me.
A ruddy red demonstration of diameter.
Obstinte and obdurate at heart
I am a junkyard bitch who sometimes likes to bark.
Your home is no show place, but you are so fine
that lyrics write idylls for you
and scheme to catch just a sight of you
blushing. I’d sooner have you stern
Looking.
Until three days ago, Parçigal had not slept well, no more than three hours in a sitting. Her mind ran busy moving invisible, imaginary things.
She was not tired. Her eyes unfocused but wide ovals.
Had she dreamt it all?
Maybe she had it confused: was she awake for those three hours, and, in fact, actually sleeping right, exactly now?
No-mind either way. Sleeping and waking became less distinguishable to her a decade ago. There was just lucid and sleepwalking.
She plods herself with aloof-nonchalance that conceals a passionate heart (smart or not). She can look until something appears.
Then the sleep will always follow.
Trivia: she says “thank you” aloud every time she yawns. To remind herself.
What a strange breath is a yawn. Inhalation and exhalation are required to breathe and live. Sneezing cleanses. Yawns seem like alarm clocks to wake you up from real life and let you know it is time to lucid dream. Yawns are the only type of breath that appear to be contagious.
What Parçigal found three days ago:
Mr. Price Preface from History of English Poetry from the Twelfth to the Close of the Sixteenth Century. By Thomas Warton, B.D. With a preface by Richard Price, and Notes Variorum. Edited by W. Carew Hazlitt. Volume 1.* London: Reeves and Turner, 196, STRAND. 1871.
“The immediate source of Eschenbach’s poem [sic. Parzival] was a Provençal romance written by one Kyot or Guiot. Of this writer nothing further appears to be known.”
Capricious as she had not been seeking it. But, sometimes she can see things when she believes them.
Curiouser and curio-user.
*Incidentally, “Of this Edition 500 copies are printed on small paper,
and 50 on large.
What are we to make of this?
When a pendulum is displaced sideways from its resting equilibrium position, it is subject to a restoring force due to gravity, that will accelerate it back towards the equilibrium position. When released, the restoring force acting on the pendulum’s mass then causes it to oscillate about the equilibrium position, swinging back and forth.
The time for one complete cycle, a left swing and a right swing, is called a period. The period depends on the length of the pendulum’s swing.
In the same vein, “when we hold our breath at the end of inhaling and before exhaling, we experience a state in which the process of becoming seems to be suspended…It gives the impression of a break from the past, quantum leap. For Sufi’s, time is ever recurrent rather than linear.”
P.58 The Ecsatsy Beyond Knowing. Pir Vilayt Inayat Khan.
“What seems to be coming and going is really the result of becoming and manifestation. ”
P.58 The Ecsatsy Beyond Knowing. Abu’l-Hasan al -Hujwiri.
“When the owner of waqt (the instant of time) comes into possession of hal (that is: it becomes a permanent state) he is no more subject to change, and is made steadfast in his state.”
P59 The Ecsatsy Beyond Knowing. Abu’l-Hasan al -Hujwiri.
“Witnessing only takes place when two lights come together.”
Muhyiad-Din Ibn ‘Arabi. quoted from The Sufi Path of Knowledge
I call out for you to breath back and forth against my lips. The light upon light of eyes into eyes.
Quicken the periodicity.
WrittenCasey 