Paaaaandemonium

Reading

Massaging tear drops
into my forehead
with fingertips I
lick wine drips from.

Best wishes from South
land dwellers, invitations
of comfort and city.

A snorer barricaded,
some glass to look out.
A grape ivy reminding
me of life and opportunity.

A film about Allen Ginsberg:
Howl.  To write as oneself
using vocabulary shared
with friends, with lovers.

I break the homosexual
ice to invite the discourse
of fucked up america into
the lightness of everyone.

All angels with swords.
To share an authority
discounts imagination;
to rebel discounts ones-self.

And so he speaks

Of walls and irons
and fires released.
I hear no call to
relinquish the fuming.
No cry for sorry, only
pretensions deceased.

Three creatures in
twelve hours.  Three
omissions of speech,
save the dog lying
on the table breathing
his last breath of heat.

And so it goes

What say dog.
Departed.
Yet to

prance
across my
dreary desk side

exhales.
Sit my
lap warm.  Remember

me by two
words.  The
only

humanity
you conquered:
[I] "Thank you."

dismayed

Crucial
wordings, frontings;
lackings in reciprocation.

In timing, in
loving, in
false.

In
asking me
to be more.

And you not
reaching for
yourself.

I've:

Danced with dragonflies.
Run with butterflies.

Seen a water snake,
numerous types of birds,
chipmunks, squirrels,
deer and insects.

Read in a sunny meadow.
Done cartwheels and yoga.
Climbed mountains.

Hiked for hours.
Peed and pooped
in a pit.

Made coffee, breakfasts,
lunches and dinners on
a fire pit grill rack.

Made fires, many, many fires.

Called AAA twice for
my neighbors.
Talked to strangers.

Swam in a lake.
Got water from a well.
Waved at passersby.

Filled up my CF card.
Stargazed, cloud gazed.
Slept in a tent.

Listened to weird
(really, really weird)
animal noises at night.

Been eye level with hawks.
Eaten mountain top
blueberries.

Sweat, gotten bruised and bitten.
Pulled a tiny tick off my arm.

Wrote and meditated.
Sang songs to myself
and my animal friends.

Drank wine from a sippy cup.
Had visitors, got bitchy,
checked my voicemail at 1,350 feet.

Balanced the elements.

me

To Paint

My Koan

Laughter ceases to be just a sound
Because it erupts out of mountains.

How lovely

"This is how I feel."  Says songs,
sad songs.  It's inevitable or so
I imagined.  Things said to many
folks, whispers and distributions.

An ache.  With and without.
Blunders.  So many, so abounding
that questioning ensues.  Nothing
present, though.  Not that I have done.

So what of this evening?  An
Owl, an answer, a friend
or two.  Who decides what
really happened and how do
we ever really know?  What
makes this mind of mine think
of wander into cave corners?

I'm uneasy.  I'm ill prepared.

I'm waiting for mistakes and
that call to tell me you screwed up
and you're sorry.  I'm sewing.

It's not supposed to be hard.

Oh my.

In evening times
I relent to shared
beds and shared patterns.

I give you fullness,
honesty and intricates.

I hand over words
without meanings,
understandings and gravity.

I smile for you and sway.

These thoughts I've shared
are without boundaries.

These ribbons extend
through galaxies, my
planet and through times.

Hell yeah

I win now

like never

before.

You

The holy shit
moment has
arrived.

Long sentences

Maybe I was kind of done
but then I had a dream
that entailed a minivan
and a driver who was
spinning us around town
in a circle and then my wife
was gone somewhere, shopping
or something, and we were in
the back seat.

Nothing happened
really, except that we
didn't speak to each other-
which is plausible if it were
real life, but the flick of an
index finger upon your
curled up hand sitting
next to your thigh.

That's all it took.

So then the dream ended
and before I could transpose
the people as I am doing now,
I inlayed many other
scenarios that I wish had
happened.

Guadalupe or something

The silly in
my belly
is

back. 
The jump.
The harmony of

invisible tethering.  Can
I claim
it?

Can
anyone?  I
assume not, but

it is my
fortune to
benefit.