a glass of bourbon on the hotel balcony by the beach a poor substitute for a family night prescribed perhaps I have not tried hard enough the way the dice fall always a pair and this is autumn how many springs and summers will I for surely less than more night has calling sunset missed, I blinked midnight scrapped, strapped, a bedouin lies in my bed, perhaps.
notes: I am in Cape May NJ this week, one of my escape hatches, but that does not always let me free of my thoughts, as they are, and so here they are…
“autumn whisper“ leaves of color the cloak of death a barren trunk succumbs to rest “sssleep, sleep my friend may your roots bear fruit in the coming spring again sssleep, sleep my friend”
(1) climb will I see paris before I die? to savor love upon the bridge of locks hide’n dance n’the shadows of triumph rise in the tower on champs de mars n’dip my bones in the river siene
to see the frozen steps of everest be fed from the kindred spirit hands of tibet brail-read the walls of the khyber pass and flow into the ganges herself as everlast
to witness pink waves of flamingos island hops the flock n’galapagos count time with a tortoise there with an iguana squad scout the surf shooting salt skyward with a puff
may I lay down along the nazca lines and so align along orion’s belt all, before I die, will I see paris, one more time?
(2) stuck on an island divorced from pangea long ago “will I see paris before I die?” I asked the also flightless kakapo “surely you did not expect me to answer, for that would be absurd” I thought the bird might mutter but what is more absurd than a flightless bird? “have you bothered to look in the mirror?, SIR” rocco concurred fair point, for a stranger in a strange land a spectrum island if there has ever been even in this waking dream I keep thinking I might run into a hobbit or two surely up for a brew or some song and more ale or two but the maori tell me of more a place to jump into the hereafter if only I could muster the muster to disappear into the tasman sea
notes… again, I stipulate, that sometimes things just come to me, or occur to me @ random, this is one of those works, just random universe influenced onto my thoughts, I can not explain it fully nor do I care to, at this point in my life I prefer to let it flow, so here it goes…
‘stand‘ if I can lie to the moon I can lie to you if I can whisper to the moon I will send my envoys into that room a gathering of your friends there was never any covenant of truth so let’s stop the pretense of pretend is this convenience a road stop or the end?
tonight the temp is just right cold enough to be colder than I can just smell the sweet leaves that fell wet so many more to go but this line between seasons in change I lament the summer but feel ready for fall prepared by all the signals my mind is made ready standing-waiting in a train station stop waiting to board the transition on
notes… just walked outside, my windows are open but I am not getting inside this lovely wave of fall air, refreshment indeed in some sense, not reprieve from a scorching day, more like comfort in a perfect blanket zone, comfortable, soothing, but yet hints of fall, the slightly sweet smell of rotting leaves, dying leaves, the intoxicating sweet smell of decay, hinted, and the cricket choir is still living, and loud, but not as much or so much, some what subdued, like the temperature, a bull tamed, a wild horse tamed but yet will fade away into the cold, but right now that feels OK, no, it feels fantastic, relief… sweet belief. oh yeah, and this was something I just wrote in my head when I stepped outside, so, that is what it is, kind of haiku feel…
the random photo in the bathroom the frame is a bit crooked or is the line of white tile beneath something is off someone is wrong
running into the sunrise a neighbor directly black suit neon shoes
the sun looks more like a gestating star with all the gases orbiting round converging into the core
a pure black cat sitting on a lawn like a silhouette prone, ears up back to me my luck I suppose
an accident on the southbound side tarp over the car, meaning mile marker 96 I notice no, more distance has passed since I am supposed to feel something aren’t I? should I meet such an end at any time not the fairy tale sleep I promise myself traffic is backed up for miles south
over the snake mountain bridge the sun has burned through now a jewel nestled in swirls of mist the empire state building stands the middle piece the land between quite unremarkable but the skyline – as you might imagine on a day like this
notes… this was an experiment of sorts, kind of stream of my consciousness in shorts, literally the bombardment of rampart in my mind as I woke and drove to work this am… I don’t record myself I write these in my mind as I drive and repeat them like a mantra, I lose some lines here and there, sure, but I really hate my voice on recordings, it does not match the voice in my mind, the voice I speak to myself always in is not what I hear in there, if you know what I mean…
for in the spring I dared to dream unfolded to soaking in the light that fuels the green
the daring leaf for I could be a ballerina toe to tip pirouette a spin a dizzying mood
the ardent explorer a ship riding the tide the temporary waterways of august thundershowers
the lazy slouch content to not much else sunbathe all the hours on sleep till noon or dawn the day star
and once a tempest passed I remember well, the fear, shaking such force upon my lap and others fled or ripped, and gone
visited by birds maybe I might fly among them carried by the wind onto some mysterious foreign lands
I can feel the drying in my veins the light remains but how the warmth has faded for all these I might have been my last grasp, to grass, browned and spent
notes… just something that popped into my head today, I could have expanded it I suppose, worked the clay, worked the mold, but it is not my way, ole ‘one draft dave’ they call me, well, ok, no one calls me that, in fact that is a terrible nickname, forget I mentioned it, let’s just keep that between us, shall we? anyway, can’t a leaf dream? who knows? why not? this work was about that thought and the weird cadence in my mind today (do you grab it?), maybe it works, maybe not, either way here it is…
for I am forced to observe my future, my fortune unfold, to post age-ed vessel in rush grey and white all colors have faded the exodus of light as the source grows dimmer a once blazing beacon now meagerly flickers cracks, wrinkles, crooked bent words repeated, forgotten, thoughts at a loss. to the memory of my dear mother or what is left I dare not to grasp too hard to break what remains to ash and yet a memory is all I will soon there have
with love, and thank you mom, your son.
notes… this was totally and utterly inspired by this post @ another blog, it was instant, it was done, it made sense, and also cut like a gun. age is a wonderful thing, time is a bastard robbing everything, do not confuse them as twins, understand them as best you can…
Shades of My Garden 