Archive for Unanswered Questions

marisol gathers dead flowers…

Posted in Hysterical Romance, love n' luck, Marisol, Poetry, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , on November 18, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

“waiting on marisol to return”

omphaloskepsis & marisol is gone.
yesterday i watched her gather
rose petals from flowers i’d
gotten her into a bowl before
placing the bowl on the center
of the table, disembodied flowers
& all. an occasional blast of wind
knocks petals from the bowl,
bleeding marisol’s work over the table
to the surrounding floor.

while she’s gone i’ve gathered
flower petals every time the door
opened, refilling the centerpiece
so she won’t see a single petal on
the floor.

when she returns the room will
have that cheerfulness that is mostly
her & some of me. i haven’t waited
for a first glimpse in years;
i’d sell my soul for a footstep
as long as it ain’t one of mine.

internal arguments against
predestination say we’re
together by choice; easily
enough everything else
flows from there. when she’s
out wandering i can still hear
her verbalizing action & close
proximity.

marisol will soon return to this
rose-petaled home. exaggerated
separation ain’t really her thing;
not with so many flower petals
waiting on her to arrive.

—————————-

I’d explain, but there seems no reason to stick my foot in my mouth again. Written for an audience of one. She’s very important to me.

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.

late in the day considerations…

Posted in Cigarette, Descartes, Opinion, Philosophy, Poetry, thoughtful trips, travel, TWTC, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , , , , on September 23, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

& 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.

sleeping through storms…

Posted in Philosophy, Poetry, Politics, thoughtful trips, TWTC, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , on August 18, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

waiting for a reason to move

perched above an afternoon
self-motivated as a coma patient
with much the same attitude.
everything waits on the arrival
of short term lightning-in-a-bottle;
what we need is the cosmic guarantor
to make good the promises so
freely given. even storm-laden
august afternoons know that.

instead just more silent acceptance
& serenity prayers both ack-
knowledge easy borne truth of
timely dis-intervention. when i
was asked to take it all on faith,
i smiled my best smile but
my answer didn’t change.

—————————————–

In honor of deities & starvation. Starting with an easy one does not bode well for those of us waiting for answers to even bigger, more complicated questions. I wish I was hungry enough to eat a burrito. Those kind of things.

1220

Posted in Ha Ha Funny, JL Stories, Laughter, Learning About Life, Philosophy, Poetry, TWTC, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , on August 11, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

1220

i didn’t wanna see straight
anyway.

another ant wandering over
butcher paper,
lost on the maze, or maybe
my imagination or something
in that vein of logic,
rationalized inebriation after
session’s end; all roads go
in the same few directions &
every last one of ’em
ends in the same place.

i didn’t wanna try too hard
or think too long about
unproven theory of an admixture,
this wasn’t time or money
or questions regarding either.
facets of the equation complicate
all the variables until the
known knowns are known, if
not longer. i’m dizzy
enough as it is.

we shared a few words between myself
until nothing was resolved. hysteric
education in the after-effects of
dynastic change; there used to be
medicine for this kind of thing
but nobody sells it anymore. now-
adays most doctors recommend
continued breathing as a cure.

i couldnt shoot straight.
i didn’t wanna see straight;
lucky for me i never had
to walk a line, least not a
straight one. what does
easy street look like
anyway?

too tired to see…

Posted in Ha Ha Funny, Hysterical Romance, Laughter, Marisol, Music, Poetry, thoughtful trips with tags , , , , , , on August 11, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

functional equivalence

marisol was ditching cinnamon
scented elastic in the lake
as i sat in semi-dark listenin’
to the Bandoleros on the jukebox.
rapid succession punctuation played
out from a spool through another
sunset until it was dark enough to
slow down & relax.

our strings sufficiently slack
for another day, i could make out
five or six chord changes as the
Bandoleros moved through recorded
routine. a partially meaningless
progression of changes came close
enough to impregnate the answer
to a misunderstood question. in
the backround i heard a dead
comedian say “you can have it all;
assuming you’ve got a place to
put it.

marisol entered the room cleansed
of elastic hair-ties but carrying
the same cinnamon scent she’d left
with. i wanted to ask her how she’d
separated the scent from the spice;
i just didn’t know how.

all at once (we were saved)…

Posted in Cigarette, Extreme Spinal Pain, Friendship, Funny Morning Stories, Ha Ha Funny, Laughter, Learning About Life, Poetry, thoughtful trips, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , , on July 17, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

we were saved

so now i know;
everything scattered
will be picked up by the
time we gotta leave,
no harm to the birds or artists.

sixty thousand dollar
apologies flood the post,
all it takes for acceptance
is to see the larger powers
at play. nobody is dumb
enough to apologize to a
head built like a brick.
call the meteorologist
& ask him which way the
winds gonna blow. we’re
all getting the same
answer, no matter who we
ask. maybe i’ll sign.
maybe not;
post looks light.

numb-minded misapprehension
feeds our celebration. don’t
let the bastards getcha down,
don’t let ’em know you’re holdin’
big slick in the river face
lookin’ like a double deuce;
everything is gonna be alright
for those of us ready to bleed
& lick.

scars are tellin’ me cuts
have healed; when my bet pays
off i’ll know it’s time to
move. until then it’s 4th
starters to the rescue ’til
the front line guys get back.
i will get back.

————————————-

Apologies for the length, this has been a long fight that hasn’t ended yet though news from the front speaks of smallish victories. Better than routed defeats. This was a morning I woke to greet the sun without waiting for the sun to greet me.

we ain’t the good guys…

Posted in Fear, Friendship, History, Insomnia, Learning About Life, Never Been, Poetry, thoughtful trips, travelogue with tags , , , , , , on July 13, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

rumor, perception & reaction

must be something ’bout
the kind of folk collecting as
whispers tolls under bridges
& the plans of outlaws running from
trumped-up charges accruing at
a daily rate. the music is okay,
even with their judgment for shite;
all the guts to follow the
story spilling out on floorboards
shot with holes that usually let
light-beams from stars through
since the ceiling fell in.

not much time to wonder when
bullets are flying over
telephone lines until i
strap on kevlar just so i can
let it ring. might-have-been
tourniquet solutions superate
between feasibility studies passed
along to unseen eyes. so rarely
a study in beauty,
the questions never asked,
another fuckin’ street-side
proposition.

safe path is to agree that bore-hole
flooring below the flaming telephone
lines & a joke gone wrong are no
place to hide. the sensorialists
will have a field day with the real-
life research; the possibilities are
endless.

————————————–

For those situations that spiral rapidly out of control due to over-reaction. As always, there is a reason it’s called a ‘passion play.’ Quo vadis?

thinking of the time…

Posted in Cigarette, Early Morning Silence, JL Stories, Learning About Life, Opinion, Poetry with tags , , , , , on June 22, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

“playin’ possum”

lightning threatened,
steeped behind furnace quality
heat. i was
sweating serrated ninja stars
& scared of what probably
wouldn’t happen post flood,
music & all.

normality is an everyday
commitment. well
intentioned cloud cover
joins us on the surface of
the sphere; important pitches
will be thrown, just not
the kind that’ll put the game
out of reach one way
or the other.
not yet anyway.

i haven’t got any proper
identification & nobody
believes a word i say.
metaphysical capitalism turns
all the stories about ridin’ the
pine into something fiercely heroic
& occasionally beautiful.
the whole picture is one of
disillusionment with aesthetics.

feed the prayers to the
hungry, divine the water
from the rock; following along
a shoreline half of something
& partially somewhere else,
the only constant is my repetitious
drags on cigarettes that all
taste the same & arrive in
the same box.

sometimes the smoke makes
pictures in the wind. some-
times not, & it dissipates easily
either way. free agent
destiny inks a secret deal;
somehow we raised up with
all the righteousness we could
assemble & smiled under weak light
from a cigarette lighter giving
everything it had to pass
along the flame.

it was time to move.

———————————————–

Just something I’ve been toying with for a while. More later, for now off to impersonate Nick Drake & see where the day takes me. I would guess big box store, but there is always hope. To the cigarette man, and of course mt

we’ll start here…

Posted in Ha Ha Funny, JL Stories, Poetry, TWTC, Unanswered Questions with tags , , , , , on June 19, 2011 by Caribbean Fool

elevenses

i lined ’em all up
by effect.
just go with
what you want;
opposite of
everything that
hasn’t happened.
that alone
s’enough for
celebration.

you can’t fall
from a wagon
when you travel
by boat.

oversize gag-gift
lighter was
all i could find
without searching
couch cushions. it
matched my smile
contemplating how
lazy i had become
to light this fire
with a joke.

between 7 tins
of legal madness;
i’m only a few
breaths short of
waking up
for the day.

my boat shimmies
in calm waters,
on beautiful days,
like this one.

—————————————–

Some know the delight in contemplation of the coming rains. Some never will. I’m not sure which I envy more sometimes. Ah well, bought the ticket…