plans askew, more to come…

“greed of the suck-fish”

gettin’ bombed watching sunday
untangle the last of her hours,
smoking cigarettes that go down
like water. rainfall outside fights
a rear-guard action keeping the
cloudy sky in place. the only
forward movement is in time.

whomever wanted it badly enough
could feel the electricity; inherent
in swallowed ovoid capsules.
transformational acrobats are all
the rage in this delicate town.
almost nobody watches the slow moving
grass waving in the foot-breeze.
short attention spans virtually
guarantee this misdemeanor attraction
generates moderate success.

by varying account, autonomics rule
the day as it constricts the loose
hours spilled out over the afternoon.
tomorrow is already given over
to a celebration of the old days;
today is the pocket the key must
pass through before being inserted
into the lock. pandoras box will
spring open on its own.

they come with questions…

“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…

“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.

the caapi tales (part 1)…

“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.

fortuitous timing…

“probably still is”

time given over to the past
for momentary subterfuge
on an afternoon shredded to
pieces by the usual assorted
miscreants & vagrant
ideologues fulfilling
all kinds of bloody-nose
fantasies. it’s all the same
to me; i’ve taken worse
(& seen more of it.)

clouds drift across the landscape
trying to cover the holes in
the sky where they usually hang
stars. maybe its too early for
anything but a snort & drag;
petunia fields won’t hold
a candle to the khandahar poppies
but the afternoon grows more
ambivalent all the same.

dotting through violacea,
playing games past tense on shattered
afternoons like a good boy. i
might have grown up a little;
just more likely not.

———————————

Inspired by Leonard Cohen.

late in the day considerations…

“& what are you, anyway?”

if i laugh too openly whenever
the razor closes in on one of
those mainline highway tours
it’s only because i’m holding
out hope that someday i’ll
grow up & be a cigar-store indian.
i test myself for sanity every
time i wake-up having watching
myself catch river-water in a net
under semi-dark skies.
everything is plural here.

next to the impossibly blooming
cigarette flower were palm trees
lining a riverbank illustrating a
pretense toward chalice duty
had the the sky not been so cloudy.
forgetting such experiences is
one of my chief preoccupations
& the way i spend most of my
starting into space time.

it fades to a regress of half
captured images memorable only
for the gaping holes in each frame;
the rest is mist, something about
the sun god apollo, maybe a
pattern in the camel smoke drifting
past my eyes. everything dissipates
into the same extirpated landscapes
& actions as actual rainfall
weighs on everything trying to stand
straighter tomorrow than was
possible today. cigar-store indian
training continues apace.

————————————–

Dedicated to normality. It’s more unique (at times) than one might think or expect.

warped fields & gravitational theory…

“& why & why”

twisted out straightened lines
tying the asphalt to the dirt,
holding it all back from strangulation.
all kinds of extractions stick
to evening hours already stretched
past endurance final strand. at an
unknown time it’ll break free from
formulaics presupposed by theory
when honest-to-life experience
disembowels already parsed possibilities
spit into discussions held at all the
finest institutions & asylum.

success in the aftermath of birth or
death played as desire for the non-
possessed. it won’t make sense
in time or space. we’ll do it
anyway mostly because of declining
potentialities.