little seeds gum

Just a moment to bemoan feeling alone.

Sirens swarm.

Rain patters like swiftly boiling water, in spite of the shining sun. The Morning Star beating his wife again.

As quick as it comes, it will go.

Either the sun.

Or the rain.

But, the mathematical solution to 0! equals one. Seemingly impossible. Impossibly erudite. Contemplative pornography.

Like eating a raspberry just to feel its little seeds gum up the curvature of molars.

so, I took a wrong turn

She has nothing to say during the day time.

Saving it for night time’s shade.

Knowing next time, she’ll sow these seeds into the desperate nightmares that will become your dreams.

Cowards in the cul de sacs of tax payer paved streets.

I wilt tread over these as much as I please. Let your puppy bark, your motion sensor lights trip. I am a stroller not a prowler.

And, as much as I am uninvited, you are not entitled.

You are a dead end at which I make my u-turn.

the Fool forever falls

I remember you. Yeah, you. You stood next to the burning acacia bush. Hard to forget.

Whilst the girl stood before the podium, clutching her tome, a man held her tresses with scissors poised. A confusing ancient image.

Nowhere else is where she’d rather be. Snip the dead ends and make the sheep shorn.

Ewe.

Ewer.

Hopelessly old to be so young.

And, in dreams did I endlessly empty the carafe into the stone basin. Naked and milky white liquid ever-flowing. My eyes trained upon a single stone upon the ground. A star, a wizard wearing a vizard.

Two pillars of sycamores framing me.

I heard your caw.

I answered with mine own trill. Basil tinted and chai scented.

The folk of Zakopane take for granted the mountain air surrounding. Snug in chalets insulated against the Kasprowy Wierch. While opening the parcel, I confuse feeling wretched with the sensation of a heart being wratched. And, all at the sight of the Slovak postmark.

Because it makes me recall the not exactly cream cheese they call qvark. White cheese paired with fruit and a terrace. A simple ripe raspberry atop to boot.

Prattle and pitter patter.

Refreshed at being carefree sans carelessness.

You are comfortable, he says.

No. You just find me cozy.

And, they threw out all the words I firmly etched with his letterpress.

Into the depths, off cliffs of Tatras,

The Fool forever falls.

Subterranean seattle alien nonsense blues

Looking like an ever-loving swine in sunglasses. Peacocking. Tail feathers all a’fan. Such a pretty fellow, just ask him.

I over hear a man dropping something in the parking lot. Cursing loudly.

Ten minutes later, he yells out at a neighbor’s squawking parrot, “shut up, you fucking freak.” Pandemic conditions do not become him.

~

“I’m just saying,” she not only, but also, says, “I’ve watched a criminal amount of cute animal videos this week. Like, if I was on the stand and used it as an alibi, it would go like this:

“Like, see your honor, my tablet history clearly shows I was four hours into binging six hours of watching cute cat videos when this crime was perpetrated.”

“Let the record reflect the witness is not guilty of this crime, but will be charged with something because of the egregious waste of time and countless brain cells. While I cannot formally find her in contempt, let the record show, this court sure holds her in contempt.”

“Like, I would not get a new job if these records of time spent watching were included in background checks.”

~

I hear the old man in the overhead apartment, creaking support beams in his pacing above me, while aggressively complaining at his phone. “Who wants to play a game,” I think. “What’s the creepiest pet name you can imagine?”

There is a cat named Mister Daddy. I know because I was in the house when it was naughty as I heard its owner crying, “No, Mister Daddy! No. That’s a bad Mister Daddy.” And, you know what? Mister Daddy, being a cat and all, just looked at this sweet girl like, “Ahh. I don’t care. Get outta my face.”

“Sounds like a real soul-shattering experience.”

“I lost sleep for a week.”

the confidence of

“It’s returning to the stranger of your previous self passing you by on roller skates.”

“Everyone commits unconscious fraud, but crimes against your own humanity remain largely unenforceable.”

“Don’t be silly, I just wanted to hear you say you think I’m pretty.”

“You walk with the confidence of a much taller woman.”

Because she hadn’t had a moment to breathe. No bit of space to call her own, even if she did have the back of a Camel pack, a portal of the porthole in the plaster, and sometimes a view.

Sometimes a forest, sometimes a cave; sometimes a sound.

A fault line. A tyranny of averages.

And, what I thought was an ever accumulating posse of ghosts was just me coming to notice them. For, they had been there the whole time. Like when I came to understand when someone begins a sentence with “I hate to mention it”, most of the time, they mean to say “I love having a chance to bring this up.”

When I do come back it will surely be as a book, or a bit of English in a pool game, or the illegible scrawlings penned by someone in ecstasy. And, I know God and I are playing in this moment.

“I shudder everytime I hear the record’s scratch.”

“I like it.”

“It sounds like breaking. Rumination.”

“Sounds like creation.”

“Oh, shut up, Shiva. Shakti the eff up.”

Falling into a swoon of kisses before saying Dummy,” and slapping him from his reverie.

By the mouths of old crows.

Lucid dreaming comes easy. Lucid living becomes tougher. I see fantastic stories through windows. I only watch real briefings to enjoy the silent signers providing translations for the deaf. I like the chorus more than the talking bobbleheads.

I recall the slight mass of you. The feel of thin, increasingly inelastic, skin covering the meat of your body. Neckline, nape, and collarbone. Connect the dots; then, come and paint me by numbers. Sign your name with a dripping brush’s tip.

These past days, I have been thumping animal hide stretched over wood. Striking a drum head, softly. Purchased in a foreign market of an alien continent where cattle roam the markets. Haggled over; Hand made; Had at a bargain. Despite being single, that day, I wore a fake wedding ring to increase the currency of my social capital. It’s all in the details innit?

And, the majority of talismans donned subliminally indicate”don’t tread on me.” A woman stranger in a man’s strange land. When in Rome, signal in Roman with protective signs.

I carried the drum on my back for weeks before sailing with it across the ocean. Talking drums teach the impact of saying things by leaving them unsaid. Cowardly lions, heartless tin men, and straw fellows appearing solid until picked apart as disappointing carrion by the mouths of old crows, before finally being blown away and scattered into bits by the slightest breeze.

Dorothy was just trying to find her way home. Wherever that place is. On her way, she sees Shiva stars exploding and feral Nataraja dancing.

“You’ve been needle-pointing with your yarn, Ariadne. You must keep moving.”

“No. I must first knit some socks for your cold feet, dummy. Otherwise, you will certainly slow me down.”

The Goddess and Godhead grew weary of playing the same, old god games together.

So, they exploded. Blew themselves apart into a billion scattered jigsaw puzzle pieces. Awaiting once promised reassembly. Now, we all seek out one another in our presently incarnated iterations. Looking for another missing piece with whom I may hold hands. Spending a spell of time choosing to walk each other home to ourselves, until each of us arrives before a door we remember forgetting.

Disorienteering

And, by the time she finds a page and a pen with which to record her whereabouts, she realizes, she has lost the thread.

Having pulled it taught over countless right angles and teasing curves to have only misplaced it.

It sprung back, in release, undoing god knows how many yards of work, in her negligence.

Disorienteering with Ariadne.

Tagged like feral game; categorized as uncategorized.