Friday, November 16, 2012

from 'sad lullabies from planet appalachia'


return of the grievous angle not the previous angel. i sing the endless

possibility of sandstone knick-knacks grimly pacing mardi-gras in

flip-flops & fly for big joe turner. loosen that snare. stomp that bass

groove into followed footsteps. shine raw desire on the glare of

appliances. weather that subterranean television snow. watch for

bouquets of overthrown. beware helter swelter in a soggy shelter,

& purely for the sake of rhyme. it's a tip-off. i read it so it must have

a grain of truth. let's goof on reality if it has its own face not mine. my

tongue has become dislodged on a few of my favorite flings. i've named

all my chemicals after former beaus.  ten a day habit has an indecipherable

lock on eternity until i get up the courage to chomp slippery valve binding

& send spiraling crush of absolute confusion on the multitudes, which

i love on an individual basis but more than one are too difficult to deal

with. holy slight for our own good. all prayers answered but some don't

understand the meaning of no. friday evening is approaching. i watch

& feel for a  weary core of crows spearheading the point of no return.

i don't know how i came to this delusion. maybe it's better i don't

ask for answers. thrusting skeleton wire with flexible intent into the

glaze of paraphrase. i'm shedding absence forever. float the flux

fantastic while chirping in the general vicinity of tumultuous sighs.

risking high road ridicule is a realization riding a lark. i no longer take

myself so seriously, sometimes i leave myself behind. bundle brains

in dead relative's quilt. it may take comfort from such information. i'll

take it for granted either way. don't pin myself down either.

 

branches of twinkle kill the sound completely dark. makes it feel

colder than the thermometer reads, as well as tight shoes.  corners

of my mind have nothing more to add to your humorous aside. tracing

resemblance to total oblivion. look for the one you trust least. been

craving unaccustomed while  threatening twilight. each promise of

unfathomable is stray bones in a bucket which add up to nothing

special. adopting blown exploits to sign for spineless shrinkage. now

the spotlight is on infinity. a spunky fusion painting now & then

with white stain of correction on a black vinyl copy worth more than

resulting art work will ever garner. a huddled mass is raising a candle

to brighten the sun, so i raise a glass to sand & hydrogen bombed lost

in space case number scratched beyond redemption. pre- packaged

introductions come with an asterisk & a rare laugh track at voracious

frequency. thy shades have denied the strumming of the chord i quote

scripture in gnostic dyslexia. sifting through cramped venues while

dragging a donkey unmistaken for a question which was lurking thorns

in every rosebud. expecting mena suvari, it serves them right to suffer. 

my compassion is blinking. must be low on batteries. building yet

another image, which i will reconstruct in a week, a month-whatever

my tenderness dictates. one can never have too many personas in this

bum steer play. a mutual apprehension twelve-step program is missing

a step at the bottom, which is up to members, which is confusing to

those on the cusp.

 

 

an installation of birds of all feathers squat, squirm, but aren't

squeamish, though maybe they should be with humans nearby.

some hillbillies will shoot anything that moves. an orange vest

& cap with mufflers won't buy them more than a few seconds.

alert the whimsical darkness. caution misty mourning. i demand

it must be beyond my imagination. is that asking too much? i pray

that you may you never find part one.  an ugly universal bruise.

the numbers paint it as mere formality. tripping out on staged whimsy,

but shuddering on ambiguity, let alone trick photography.  myth

of different times they trot out for every 'accident.' seared with scars

of plenty. am i supposed to thank my lucky scars that i kept a low

profile instead of pasting a smile on every rugged cross i passed.

punishing the language for leaking the proof. driving stakes under my

feet. my margin for error isn't a  lover's moon, lover's swoon, or lover's

doom. jerking my entrails like putty while laying funeral flowers

under the cover of swapped earth. feeding multiplication fables to

the minimalist rumble of obligation. stumping the prophet with a

belly full of suicide. works half the time. if you can find me better

odds i'll share my winnings with you. in the meantime they're spitting

fire down my cotton mouth. yawning shards of broken bits & blackened

burn. accepting defeat in inhospitable suit but with a grin, & perfume

that screams raid. lithium owl lids ache gray love. spherical progression

equals circular logic. logic is another word for fractions. saluting illusion

with prosthetic arm while gathering whole numbers with the real thing.

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