Pre-ribbed before born,
Pre-Trib ululation I could live
with you in an ordinary home
at river's edge or in a golden city "of the Rhone"
Road's island made splendid undull snap
-shot "drive me off of this picture" sum-total
tonal light You are always the "scene stealer"
Noble with a laughing face I may seem dull
at first but give it time brickwork blocking
light Build the wall I'm not as flat as
sponge cake made with real sponges Cue chorus-y
droll (I get a kick out of you) "How long men
have lived in this region is a mystery"
World full of evil Rochefort's Could comb your
"locks" with a diamond comb You're my Major
apex of Appalachian-cragged history it says
"I could repeat myself" Alps capped in snow
I picture Bob Ross in Marseilles in a flat terrain
painting everything in sight A marshland
where bulls roamed & mosquitos rose
in clouds into clouds Swarm me
like thick stone slabs out of nowhere
rolling down from a craggy mountainside beneath
sacred oaks bringing a curious absence solemnity of
frontiers nearly clairvoyant nearly engraved
by your gaze that could wield iron swords
rough abstractions like the way
every photograph sees differently like
looking through Galileo's telescope
at a star-strewn sky that scrapes the Eye
of Certainty creative containments
"ethereal bubblegum" A wide empty void
is empty only because one's ignorance of a Creator
We're throbbingly-alive You & I who else?
Throbbingly-alive & kicking in the mind's
underside like Memory's image like aban
-doning the armor Cobwebbed dungeons of the
past still echoing strongly in the gritting
teeth of three-ton bulldozers A world seen
through the abuse of dirt reflects riffs of
barbarousness but of cultivation Centuries of
calm follows until the unwritten language
of man's manners prune the vine of
a selfish ravenous rage desires symbolized
through a kaleidoscope of tears The days
smiling with cold lips without impassioned
applauses definite umbilical ties to evil
like the lies of paganism still seen in stone
sarcophagi Les Alyscamps The
odd visual intents of the cathedral of
Saint-Trophime Supernumeries a world
full of inventory shrinkage In an early
morning gig in mere suburbia I am somewhere
feeling restricted & overwhelmed "Information
Age" can heavily-heave like the Gauls
being crushed by the Romans This, a classic
episode of my mental "master performance"
"Keep your hand on your wallet & a grip
on your sanity" Where are you "accumulating"?
Hm? Rubbing sleep not far from the eyes
but from the stalwart core of being dominated
in over-populated dreams I could be
wrapped in another time another place
elegiac cornucopias vehicles getting guadier
& guadier The voluted columns of my
heart like a transatlantic steamer Every
age is a gory content Nth-born
gimmicks Think of Woodstock: those couples
that were sharing their joints & cornflakes
now have crackling joints & are perhaps flaky
with corns Same "Headlines of History"
Nth-born gimmicks the way a woman may
line her thighs with goodies if she wears
unstylish baggy elastic-edged underwear
Native population of setting booby-traps
i.e., public embarrassment being profitable
"I heard that" someone mumbles
Evaporated I become feels like long
-winded diary entries but I reflect "feeling"
like contours of hills outlined in colors
Pottery poetry silked-spice inward wares
unawares I gather mirrors in the center
of our explanades the ones where more is
more (music from a jewel box?) like
a palace of atmospheric-neutrals You could
be sea-grass a similar tone We're left
within infinite space as if Houdini had
come in & decorated Your eyes add
"height" to my yearning to be a tiny specimen
in your sight (modesty) My youthful beard
is crooked Eight years ago
I was an unknown Octavian-like
individual in a small town merely to suggest
certain delicacies & character tempered by
claustrophobic surrounding
Now even slightly mellower no excavation of
seasonal grasping bearded I rise awaiting
too late perhaps for love still tugging at my
torso of the dangling beribboned dart in my
Corinthian-like facaded ribcage I feel
engulfed in gulfs of blue the way northern-folk
seek sun in the south warming up the mental canvas
ablaze strawberry patches flourishing
like the unhaunted garden of an asylum
perhaps that of which Van Gogh gasped at in wonderment
on the Christmas Eve of l888 following the irrevocable
rupture with Gauguin "Stir crazy"
One can nearly hear the soft shoes approaching
walls that weave in & out Somewhere
"lost" amidst this is a network of a fifth sense
like nostalgic repetition Humor hem'd in frolic
& variations of variations like grandma fighting
off a crazed orangutan at the edge of a cliff
with a suitcase of money she had found in
the backseat of a Chevrolet convertible "Information
at the root of humor?" Humor is only relative
to our consistently-evolving expectations
The energy of youth allows one to seek for anything
the abilities to fill gaps in patterns
like the government eventually rooting
& resorting to a Mexican dugeullo:
"murder & take no prisoners!" "Never laugh
when the hearse goes by / For you may be
the next to die.." My point has
been insured this poem stretched around
the earth balanced on who's forehead?
"Stressed" each word Will you come
over to pirouette with the silhouettes of my
rightstandingness? Perhaps soon Perhaps
my voice will crack & I will turn away from
the idea & run down the street
(If so meet me for a get-together Do you
like cheese? coffee? crackers?) Comic
imagination The winter birds are everywhere
their "tweets" the only sound around
the surround-sound of the tree-openings
I will wait here in this dead-grassy stretch
of quiet I have a spot outlined for you
Fog's patching certainty leaves me
busy-bodied in expectation
At night the cloud-changing sky matters not
Here the marshmallow softness of ground
with Anticipation like a hundred buffalo
running through my torso
