Archive for Series

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.

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.

quasar the vermillion dust (part 5 the finale)…

Posted in Hysterical Romance, Late Night Silence, Poetry, Quasar The Vermillion Dust, Series, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , on July 14, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

closing time

heard from a messenger;
that girl is smiling
because she is breathing
the same air running wild
in my alveoli. disbelief
on my part until the realization
we were listening to the
same music too. might even
have shared dinner
& split a milkshake down
the middle.

i reached out for her
with a name that was &
wasn’t hers, hoping she’d
see i was only here
because i needed her as much
as she needed me.

———————————–

To M, even if she doesn’t know why. We all have our reasons, even when there is nothing reasonable about them. With love.

Authors note; this is the final poem in the quasar series. I think I got what I wanted out of them, but that as always is a matter of opinion rather than factual observation. Anyway thanks to all who read them. I appreciate the support.

quasar the vermillion dust (part 4)…

Posted in Poetry, Quasar The Vermillion Dust, Series, thoughtful trips, travel, TWTC with tags , , , , , on July 10, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

contents under pressure

i can breathe therapy
into heartbreak wearing
silver shoes. knock down
the slight noise of footwear
tappin’ down cement hallways
to speak plain. kill the echo
with a hissing canister
under pressure, punctured by
restorative moments of
grace, calm, & hope.

elsewhere squirrel rabbit-wannabe
traces paths of gutters &
ditches hoping to find food or
water. elemental hope; always
around the next corner
(extended faith in satisfaction)
retro cool but worried all the time.

like grabbing a skinny strip
of skin & bone, cutting through
then looking down to see if it’s
tail or neck.

i can breathe therapy
back into empty necks,
replace silver slippers,
kill the echo with that
canisters kiss after
puncturing it in a moment
of extreme crisis &
untamed reaction.

quasar the vermillion dust (part 3)…

Posted in Poetry, Quasar The Vermillion Dust, Series, thoughtful trips, TWTC with tags , , , , on June 18, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

it ain’t makin’ sense

breathless.
waiting on leftover oxygen
(it shows up green
in the interstellar void)
for a fix. how to turn
blue-to-red in three easy
steps.

conditioned to breath.
it can’t be fought without
a fight, & even then you’ll
lose. it comes from the giant
convection ovens, hot & heavy
& everything the physicists
warn us to avoid.

highway signs are missing,
there’s no perspective.
relativity almost works,
gives the quantum mechanics
inspiration to proceed.
by now we’ve got a tracing of
a copy of a map.

cars sleeping beside the road.
not impossible
but not where we should be,
& nobody knows where that is,

drained of whatever energy i’d
swallowed. melting hours reform;
everyone feverishly transfixed
on a point in space-time
seemingly in need of redesign. i can
agree with that.

——————————-

Apologies for the absence. Life got hectic, but I will be back to posting more regularly. Hope all is well, or at least soem fair approximation of such.

quasar the vermillion dust (part 2)…

Posted in Cigarette, Poetry, Quasar The Vermillion Dust, Series with tags , , , , , on May 31, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

“heresy on the potomac”

lemming-angels on parade. there
is no crossing post vigil on Vine
Street, where kids play in the street,
fiddling around with zippos running low
on fuel. even with the flint ground
low & sparks hard to come by
everything still gets lit.

all the words spoken, written &
thought require more than is asked
with them. pseudo-intellectual ex-
pressions in daily vernacular. those
dirty looks shot my way feed my ego;
real hatred is as inspired as deep
love but given voice so much easier
than prayer.

shower-clean frame emergent
archetypical; any who follow must
(by all theory) listen to the words &
music. some go on to prove it later,
others sit in creaky chairs telling
stories about that time spit & paper
came together to build a better
cigarette.