To call a stone panther.

The braches on boughs broke.

Lying lifeless. Casualties of the white out.

Lost soldiers, abandoned by their unit.

Under the weight they could not withstand.

Only now revealed

Sheets melted.

Perfect circle encircling more circle.

Inside.


There is a blackstone panther, she re-enlivens each night

A path of sprawling

Stalking prowl.

The little girl awaiting her bus told me so.

She tugged my coat and pointed as I passed: I see her at night.

Does she have a name, I ask?

She just nods and waves.

Passing,

I smile and turnaway.

Exhausting Dreams

I’ve been consistently sweating in my sleep.
Dreams in the same neighborhood as the swaying structures
Only now we are not pedestrians.

Nor roof top runners.


The vans return.
Mass panic.
Drunk, drunk rednecks.
And, disenfranchised swarming points of public services.
No one seems rich.
Or perhaps the rich are unseen.
Alee and safe from our strife.

The previous night, the riots/disaster broke out.
Some truth revealed of which I discovered myself involved in
Through familial inheritance. clandestine.
Unaware until that moment.
Strange feeling of alienation.
Now that I know my involvement, my allegiance, must change.
My family has implicitly caused the suffering of many. With at least a bit of awareness.
<With too much intoxication?>

We leave a keg party in the woods.
A young man, Hunter

I went to high school with this blonde

Son of a politician [in the dream].
We were not friends.
He was in a higher clique, multiple levels.
That said. he was always kind.
I am by far the sober one.
But have the deepest of dread about driving the
Super drunken party.
As in, if we get pulled over by the cops (sic. American cops midst a crisis….DANGEROUS) it is more important for me to ditch the carload and make for this public center. That looks like the Tuscaloosa Library

(ed. note: before ‘tuscaloosa’, it was called Druid City. Point in case, the biggest hospital is known formally as DCH- Druid City Hospital. Quite magical considering the Magic City is only 45 min. NE.)


Hunter offers, kindly yet foolishly to drive us in his huge red truck.
Within two minutes we are clearly going to crash and hit a metal solid post. I think:
1. Hunter’s father has the sway and motive to save his son and the party to the crime. That is if we/they ever make it to trial. Which is questionable. The state of AL is in shoot first question later mode.
2. I will bail from the truck before impact IF impact is inevitable. I have great confidence in my ability to time and gauge this.
3. Amy is the only one in the truck I feel loyal obligation to. I fill with dread. We have not spoken in years, and she feels like dead weight that I am responsible for. And I intuit she may feel the same way about my own prescence.
People begin to reach up and try to snatch the wheel. This is ok by me.

Somehow we avoid crashing.


Amy bails.
I bail.
We freeze

And look at each other. We did not plan to bail together.

We apparently were just similar minded in how to handle the problem.
I indicate with eyes: I’m going my way. Do you want to come or go?
She crosses the road towards me.
Before she finishes, I’ve started running toward my destination.
She cannot keep up.
She arrives later and is pivotal in assisting me help the people my family

tacitly, indirectly, hurt.
(Ed. Note: she loves her family. They have never truly hurt her or even let her down in waking life).

We save the day after a protracted dance of:
She distracts and alludes the vanmen outside through camp.
I evade them inside while finding and sneaking people.
From this multiple story structure that winds horizontally.
It seems to grow ampersand sprawl.

The people often resent my help.
Some refuse it.
An armed faction of the people I’m trying to get outside decide me a hostile enemy.
Complicating my evasive action.
They change forms. An elite force.

At one point, í beat a crow to death, over and over it came at me, with a tennis racquet. When I looked on its lifeless body, felled upon the second step of a staircase, I fill with dread.
I killed it in fear it was a transformed enemy. In retrospect, I cannot be sure that I had not just beaten a confused, agitated bird to deæth. Maybe it was just a bird. Then the whole question stops making sense. I feel confused but on the run. Time, survival.
end: successful but incomplete.


Cut to last night.



Same place, same time.
Only, I embrace the role of driver.
My car.
Interstates flooded with water and cars.0
I dodge and weave impeccably.
But, I feel exhausted and stressed.
Then, I know when/that I should/ to

pull over and rest.

The panic inside me ceases.

The disarray outside continues.


I drive people in and out of the city all night

(I would not describe it as a nightmare. Not even as a bad dream.

Just a tiring, surprisingly self re-affirming dream)

*

I Tense My Neck

With back straight,

Í asked you, “do you try hard too?”

The snow reduced me to pencil,

#2

Bleeding out my pens proper.

Wondering about that table of six í auto-gratted

in the Tavern five years prior.

My lead cracks.

Mark darker.

And then í find,

one pen left in my fold.

Shortstop

Between run and go.


A dash of dalliance

Unconcerned with with prose that came before

Or wilt

Would be.

Her hands would shake?

Ledges are not only

but also for leaping.

They told me “no.” Which is always within rights, but í was left confused.

Í cannot remember asking anything


Lend a

Hand, right?

Play your vinyl

Remove the album sleeve.

Put your diamond down, glasscutter.

45 rpm.

I see none involving nengk.

I feel like a chemist when I boil water.

Astood upon three toes.

Oops

now four.

And the sky matches the ground.


He told me we ought to blow it up.

The snow.

Cuz of the moon.

An allotment of the ailment is being carried

By wagonmasters & confronters.

I pay attention to your punctuation.


Sometimes my teeth bend but don’t break in my bad dreams.

Of getting ready for Gertrude’s party

That never happens.

Disproportionate response.


Unreeving.

Receive the rowen.

We worked double overtime.

And looked into your mother’s eyes.

She could not smile then but she does now.

As assiduous as inexorable is

My final defenses are indeafsible.

A prerogative disinclined toward extravagance,

As much as the silver sliver of

The new moon is caustic

And the lurdan lurid.


The succubus and incubus work in tandem.

One pulls rope and the other gathering eggs.

No small surprise they work in sleep’s misty revue.

A dæmon to a dreamed of demon that never derived from the proper diabolical.

A small child born.

A mom and dad.


And suddenly you stroke your chin,

And I miss my train

Of thought again.

Scraps of yellow bits scatter my room

And I sit indian style.

Crossed.

Bow drawn. Arrows all a’quiver.

Quivered and quivering.

Set asleep amongst the Ingessana Hills.

Children recover souls they did not know

They missed.

We are the doctor-diviners with a sleepy second sight.

We dream the dreams the sleepers cannot fathom

Until awakening.

There is no need to fear.

I see none involving nengk.

A Concealment of Collective Nouns

Morbid effery from the monkeyed,

Landed gentry.

Luxurious as late night coffee with heavy cream.

Laden.


All the crawfish fixing to get boiled.

Cloves of garlic

Resting on claws

Coalescing correlations.

Corrections to iterations

Deshelled and /de/tailed

Consumption.

Silver eyes against armor-alled all red

Whiskers a’faced to

Terraced tails.

Rampant mud and bug

With a dropped bouquet.


The slow crawl of the limited engagement

Leaves above my head.

Shining.

Í will make you look up and remember the sky.


You forget your breath

(Ampersand)

You lose a life.

I forged injunctions

Duplicitous & with steely reinforcement.


Silversmithing.

The pleasure of the written word. Consummate.

The change in our handwriting over time.

Fingering out your new font

Of pen scratch.

Scrawled.

Sprawling.

And my rhythm dictates a tempo for our saraband.

Shorthand.


You should always carry a handkerchief.

Cotton is fine. Print or naught.

It is not you that will use it

Anyhow.

So remove from that top drawer.

Overly ajar.

《》

A black rectangle

Framed in an indigo field. Ræching.

《》

What do we know of destruction?

Or why the paper need be canary.


Elongation in enunciation is

A mispronunciation.

Two blankets for the two ankles outside

Tonight.

Headed stones of fuzzy beasts

Sette

Atop footed cherrywood.

Vascular knotted circuitry

(<subterranean>)


A slip of the hips,

a flick of fingers.

Full affront of the suites

Merely one of a sort of resorts available

To your privy.

The pluck of pages.

Should they dissuade?

Is it prey to the præter-?


They said some really mean things about some really mean people. What do you suppose that means?

Felled and befell.


Sometimes it is hard to tell an l from I from a 1.

But no one ever mentions this.

A notice noticed. Even if misunderstood.


I drank the coffee to stay

Sharp in my sleep.

I sleep with a steno

Padded

Petrified enfossil.

A sordid seizure of a hardened fruit pit.

Dishollowed.

Where countenance meets disposition.


Heavy like

Wet denim.

cassette à fleur

I shift shoulders,

Crackly, a’tængled.

Naught not knotted.


Capacity and current

Contained by my spine.

Contracting.

Runs amok until

Corrected to both

convex & concave

Context.


Back braced

And arching.

Bending

Bow

To arrow.

Column of my chord.


Given immobility put to good use

In postures

Not posturing.

Posing but no poser.

Calf cramps

Paces inside

In sides.

Sidling as slides.


Sliding the sphere of my cəntər

Recanter.

And əntərs.

My abdomen to

My solar plexus

through

To my head.

Red , Terracotta , orange

Yellow , Green, Indigo.

Amid

White

Black.

All then red.



When cultivating a rose, they account for size, form, color,

Substance

Stem & Foliage

Balance

&

Proportion

(but wə can turn anything into a competition, I’d wager)



An ugly rose?

Hum

Birds and bees do not notice.

Lao Tzu or The American Rose Association Rule Book.

Misnamed. Mislabeled.

!

Dont let the roses pick up on that vibe.

Or the glass embracing it might break.


The rose and the vase.

This translates to a title.

Watch “INXS – Never Tear Us Apart” on YouTube

A recent conversation left me reexamining my mental (re)collection of the 1980’s music scene. I came from an acoustic, Martin, early 1960’s to gritty 1970’s household, ya see.

Now, I was a young `un during the `80s, not even alive for the full decade. I write from sloppy memory & unresearched timelines.


To wit. viz. My first memories of favorite songs (years before-gasp-receiving my first cd/tape player boombox) include:

1. Phil Collins (solo, post Genesis); Groovy Kind of Love

2. The Beach Boys (see Surf’s Up not Pet Sounds. Giggle); Kokomo

3. Don Henley (solo, stag de La Eagles); All She Wants to do is Dance


My radio cassette player allowed me to record radio to cassette tape. I took great advantage of such a Tape OP.


The draped-on drum production kinda kills me.

Insta-musical carbon dating.

Not necessarily standing the test of time.

Remaining revolutionary.

But hindsight blahblahblah.


I know I’ll take Tears for Fears, INXS, and George Michael (see also The New Radicals 1990’s) most days.

But I thought real hard about what song with which to start a Pressed review.

The 1980’s have some spectacular introductory pieces (ala Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain).

Songs that mesmerize you before they truly begin.

Donnie Darko previously re-popularized Tears for Fears Head Over Heels. Same band, Sowing the Seeds of Love continued a pop sentiment that trickled down to Oasis, Space Hog. REM.


But, as far as knock out 1980’s intros that I can immediately recall, I had to land here with INXS. Vaguely Antish?


P.s. an exemplar par excellence of the use of a 1980’s sax. Too often wrecking a track.

.