Archive for September, 2011

marisol drives me home…

Posted in Hysterical Romance, love n' luck, Marisol, Poetry, Series with tags , , , on September 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

marisol drives me home

upside down after clock-hands
swap spots; the usual timing
of the extreme, all at once,
all the time.

the ice cream melting in the
streets of fire, where the last
guitar string vibrates to infinity.
last years hits play out on
the road to electronic bliss. i
can handle defeats of the past,
leaving them gutted & bleeding
on some distant corner where
they belong.

marisol smiles in the patches
of sun unbound by shadows & unlocked
forever from confined destiny.
road, field, stream & meadow confer
an early indulgence of raucous
laughter. we brace our claims in
the mirror, each other, ourselves,
all in the same gesture. slipping
inside all i feel is the ride home.

she asks over & over
“is this your definition of love?
do we come in pairs?”

i’m not privy to an answer
to the hip thrust questions.
words are less than useless &
i’m answering in the dark
without knowing what my face
looks like.

people in other cars are heading
home, music plays & all the lights
seep ink or paint or blood to
color the tracks of tires all
heading in the same direction.

infatuation with our infrastructure
leaks out over a parking spot
close enough to the front door.
we almost touch, then we do.
our magnets are cleaner than
our hands. we’re tangled hair on
the pillow when we’re rising
with the sun. the hands
on the clock move again.

——————————————-

For Marisol. I wish I could tell you what it all means beyond the light, but these are words, not flashlights.

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they come with questions…

Posted in afternoon requiem, Cigarette, Fear, Friendship, Laughter, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , on September 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

“fantasy of movement”

i don’t know where we are.
driving through arteries soon enough
to be choked with other travelers
heading back to a lodge in the
crack shack with all the evidence
of arguments & bullet holes.

we are the lovers dancing at the
end of a silver string. all
our games are scripted but no
rules are enforced. willing par-
ticipants; every penalty a bruise
with a purple/yellow story. rampant
is the mistaken belief that
this chemical road turns to dirt
later rather than sooner.

signs of resolved struggle
dash through the afternoon, dancing
through car windows. sunflower
oil & black licorice leftovers
demand no attention; given
time the precursors reconstitute
themselves. we will discover
a new form only afterward.

sam cooke sings while i write…

Posted in bumper sticker stories, Cigarette, Ha Ha Funny, Laughter, Loveable Losers, Philosophy, Poetry, Psychonauts, thoughtful trips, TWTC with tags , , , , on September 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

my own world

there was talk of black
curtains to fence me in but
we didn’t need anything that
serious getting in the way.
natural light to one side
of the neural window; add,
subtract, see how it plays out
& never worry.

playing pretend with glass pistols;
billowed smoke playing the bullets
sprayed around the room hoping
for gawdsake that nobody
gets hurt. the psychonauts ride
again for points distant.

————————————-

It’s been a while since the psychonauts rode. The time is coming soon & if you’re not ready, opt for sanity and hope. All others 5 cents a head. That’s meat for the roaster; we are the fire under the spit.

i am not alone…

Posted in History, Poetry, Sports, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , on September 29, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

about last night

found the usual post-mortem
in black ink but it doesn’t
matter (in detail.) pouring some
music & another cranberry juice/gin
cocktail & i’m laughing
cause that’s what you do when
the last feather is pulled out
& you find out you can still
fly.

the caapi tales (part 2)…

Posted in Poetry, Series, The Caapi Tales, travel, TWTC with tags , , , , , , on September 28, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

euphoria & a sunny afternoon

it was beyond my usual fun,
half-done by my own hand.
etching euphoric shapes
on leaves, seeing in minutiae
the current fascination
inherent in momentary circumstance.

i’ve got music playing over
slow-train thoughts while
breathing in green shades
tinted brown like roots growing
out of the building to test
the afternoon. it’s an easy
wander down cracked concrete sidewalks
as the midday ants crawl
toward a destination i’ll never
stop to consider. a days work
almost done; vicious heart
break vintage wine already
drunk down for good luck.

i play waiting games &
watch trees for meaning
because the stars don’t show
in the late afternoon. everything
that is shadow now crawls
on its belly to escape the sun
i court from my balcony. with
everything moving, nothing
is still. my razorback insides
stop nicking minor arteries;
they’re after big fish same
as me.

————————————-

IF you haven’t tried this, you really should. Or don’t. More for me hahahaha!

the caapi tales (part 1)…

Posted in Poetry, Series, The Caapi Tales, thoughtful trips, travel, TWTC with tags , , , , , , on September 28, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

vacation

i was already sure i
had to taste something
other than the stale air
recycled continuously for my
benefit while a small crowd
watched for signs of life.

nothing says alive like the
plume of smoke coming off
another cigarette. all the shades
of green agree the signs are
good; so far everything
shimmies when i exhale & wonder
what can be so savage as see-
ing the world through new eyes
in hard to reach places.

mouth & hands work together
underneath a good mans
experimentation on the universe,
plant life, whatever. biota
at its finest.

hands shake the last drag
from a loaded cigarette ready
to fire. instead it’s smudged
into an ashtray & left to
burn out. ever as such, my
daily lamentation expressed
with my devilish smile. i
won’t even ask why i wasn’t
told all this a long time ago.

————————————

The boys at the home office have really been on my ass for a new series. After immersing myself in the proper literature as well as a hat/tip from a disembodied voice, the whole thing came together in a nice trip package. I’m guessing a four part series, but it that isn’t enough & psychosis fails to set in, there may well be more. Until we meet again… get a hat.

9 a.m. wakeup call…

Posted in Cigarette, Early Morning Silence, Extreme Spinal Pain, Funny Morning Stories, JL Stories, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry with tags , , , , , on September 28, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

sewer-diving

is it cliche to watch a
strange woman dive into a sewer
& rise up with diamond watches
on both wrists? i don’t know
enough to judge the scene
as anything except more of
the ludicrous mixture of
luck, doctor-drugs & realizing
somebody has to win.

besides, they can’t all make you
sick when morning arrives
with kanna colored glasses making
everything appear safe as
sepia; no sharp edges or
sudden turns. bounds of the maze
all go to the same place, just
a more tortured meaning of path.

of course it ends the way it begins.
no respectable artist would
ever make any other choice.