the marisol poems…


pink flip-flops

i’d always help you tie your shoes;
anyway i was looking for someone
who’d hold my hand during the
scary parts & i don’t mind being that
close. sometimes it’s all i want.

maybe i’d heard it said by a stranger
someone among everyone was
moving faster than me & seemed
pretty sure (more-or-less) what
was going on. all i knew was
i like girls wearing baseball hats
backwards & laughing at every
bad joke that’s ever been told.

it always never makes sense
that marisol sits on the back porch
while interminable distance fills
the closeness between there &
here. so what if i know about
limitations? impermanence is a
bitch,” i told marisol.

her smile arrives on time,
though not related to any
discussion at hand. nothing
moves in a straight line for
more than a few feet; root
beer barrels are as close to root beer
as we’re likely to get in an age
of rice crispie treats.

all of this is insanity & i want all of it.

hard earned nicknames like flower
petals sit on the floor of a church.
quick cuts to places you never see
& we can stamp this union in blood
smeared on windows.
doors.
walls.
steps.
hands.

i don’t really bruise these days.
had it kicked out of me for awhile
& started doing it on my own for
kicks. most of the time i can see
things in this whole new light;
sometimes i’m wrong but at least
i’ll figure it out later.

anyway,
how the fuck are we gonna put
fucking laces on pink flip-flops?
marisol laughs crystal pure,
& the sun stops in the sky
to listen & look.

————————————————–

low dollar dreams

ambrosial taste oncoming
momentary amnesia sets
in. everything will surface
sooner or later; drawn
deeply into a ten finger-
hug laminated with skin
cream smelling like kiwi-
almond texture spread
with the same care with
which one would assign
seats at an office get-
together.

whatever is forgotten
won’t be the more im-
portent fixtures of day
to day living or even
subsistence level farming.
instead we’ll lay down
& compare stars, moons,
planets & asteroids from
the comfort of our bed.

i’m not asking if you see
your beauty reflected in
every photon dashing
around the room; i’m just
sayin’ i can see it clearly &
know those stars & planets
& moons are only background.
from where i sit, i can watch
you lay back to wish on a star,
faintly glowing from todays
light, double-sided stuck to
the ceiling, it’s only waiting on
you.

——————————————-

who do you think i am?

dollar cost averaged into
life; with any luck the music
plays for a few seconds longer
than the dance lasts. that
girl with a pin-up smile topped
with a glowing aura is
running a fever &
needs to sleep it off.

i know that kind of smile;
after the gunfight ‘tween
clinton & those gangs i’m
not surprised she was looking
to escape though nothing is
ever entirely accidental. a man
sees what there is to see
& falls for the scruffy hearts’
club mascot. comes with the
territory. ain’t complaining
’bout my good luck today.

my speedball mentality is a paced
logic without precedence; she’s
sugar-fruit falling from a star tree
in a grove hidden from easy view.
i poured the last ounces of sunshine
from my hip flask into a shot for
both of us. midnight flashed into
brilliant afternoon as marisol
clambered down from the sugar
tree. we practiced healing each
other & settled for lowered
fevers without the aches & pains
of separation. anything else
would have been too much to
ask for under the near-perfection
of midnight afternoon.

——————————————

someday

expressively styled by time spent
& a little excess.
no plan to follow
& never too many mornings
waking up to your alarm.

one invitation
was enough to get you here;
looking past unexplainable miracles,
fate or destiny, etc.
that kind of thing
never was my specialty,
even in the years
when nothing was as
probable as everything.

there isn’t any rationale: i
forgot to read your words & licking
the hand holding the pen is my
way of speaking to you while
you move around the room.

everything in time. three minutes
after forever, who will know the
prescience of momentary stillness
just before you take me home?
as you assure me you’ll stay
another night we admire
the inside view from the others
mask. even a kiss that
trumps zirconium conversations.
all questions will arrive;
how & when
is anybody’s guess.

quizzical reflections on
pirate princess radio
with just enough static
to remind us of summer trips.
climbing from bed after
a five year daydream with
frequent pause for
cigarette fantasy-fulfillment
moments; the last of the
immortals reminds us that
sometimes forever is just
a really long time.

——————————————–

shadows on the sand

shadow photograph

quick serve pink-berry smoothie
on a spring evening trying
like hell to be summer afternoon.
speedball winds blow hair past
eyes until the sky cleared in a
equatorial tribute to
blue crystalline.

it ain’t exactly our secret if
everybody knows; pushing past
your front gate while you claw
at my back only gets us so far.
pushed forward by every
treasured gust of breath leaking
pressure from under the sky;
lack of laid path doesn’t still
our footsteps, four across.

shadows result from interception
of sunlight by the mass of
our bodies. on sand pictures
won’t give up any ghostly
figures traced on shore; it will
catch them in the shutter
speed of a certain instant when
our hands touched while walking
dunes under the clearest
of skies.

——————————————

colors looking back at you!

baby’s flower from the beach

there goes another sea-breeze,
same way wind spontaneously blows
form from somewhere unidentified.
superfluous explanation; words
aren’t wind but i feel it all the
same.

more a picture of detailed
flower; raised to be a corpse &
before that to stand still,
look pretty, with attendant judgment.
taken too seriously you’d think it
was entirely normal; what we get
from dirt & sunlight & the occasional
raindrop.

frozen motion of growth. we live on
music & sleep in chairs. we’re the
semi-gloss clinging & coating an
atmosphere. flowers, camera, picture,
opportunity, existence. it pulls the
living back from sleep, awakens sight
& sound. transmogrified beauty
forever.

——————————————-

forever & three days

slip-walikin’ those
leveraged steps along
the path through the park
leading to sweat falling from
a neck tracing a spine above
beauty. we walked
the long way home holding
hands while gradients of darkness
admitted more & less shadow
until the sun rose to flick
insolent patches of grass
into the light.

me & my ladyfriend attack
masquerading sunlight attacking
our headquarters built of pillows
& sheets. all the shades
drawn in preparation for combat-
napping. there’s no war among
comrades fighting battles together
as old wounds show up hurting,
punctual s’ever. her smile quiets
my exhaustion while i try
to comfort the source of her
tears.

as i wipe away her tears i feel
my cheeks drying.

——————————————–

meeting a new friend

someone spoken of,
but never to. i’ve heard
good things about impossible
miracles readily delivered
to me as the man makes his
rounds. we’re all ready to
take a shot.

introductions &
cold drinks all around.
marisol happily redefines
her photography while
a wise man keeps everything
together & talks of the liquid
extract as if we’d reached
the brass ring.
in the grasp of long-
distance vegetation, we’re all
smiling about something else
& trying to talk about
this addition to
human possibility.

marisol’s trimmed pictures
testify to her work same
as empty cups speak ’bout
throaty gulps depriving them
of liquid. smooth haze covers
the afternoon while
marisol keeps a surprise
up her sleeve, peaking out
under the influence of a
faraway root.

someone spoken to after
long waited arrival. this
is new territory in need
of exploration. marisol
takes pictures but none of
us recognize the familiar
surroundings.

indonesia-deliverance
as the psychonauts
gather close
for the next big thing.

———————————————-

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.

—————————————–

zany antics

it was easy as listening,
developmentally capable of
debating pascals wager until
ease of passage overwhelmed
the refractions of short-timer
echoes as strings & reeds
vibrated their way from M-
theory into popular conscience.

passing out cookies to a large
crowd of heretics displaying
his generosity; stunning yet
too easy to imply real sacrifice.
verdict passed on via the
jealously wrathful, late to the scene
carrying its own semi-translucent
luck.

miracle kilter sounds like
hooves rhythmically tapping
cobblestone streets in some
forgotten era. even
without horses the sounds
come to life born again
on the backs of draft animals
pulling their weight &
a few pounds that rightfully
belong to a rider.

all of the signs & most of the
veterans agree on some
obvious equivalence. past that
i wake up hoping for luck
& the kindness of marisol. poly-
synthetic luck responding to
desperation if not prayer. aesthetics
aside, she’s holding air signs
in the water while i stand
on solid earth. copernican logic
in Linnaeus’ world.

we speak different languages
with equal precision & talk for
hours about anything but
everything.

—————————————-

intensity under marisols constellation

without a need for explanation,
i could already identify a
strange certainty that we’d already
traveled deeper into this dream-
laden evening than the clock would
say or the calendar could prove.
pasting 150 nights to the ceiling
only strengthens my desire
to paste 151 on the same
canvas. marisol simultaneously
shines & reflects her dreams;
i hold on to my front row seat
with no intention of ever
letting go.

assigning numbers to such evening hours
would only distract from
the dreamer & dream. her deep
respirations rhythmically assure
me of a dream i come closest
to fulfilling only when awakened
amidst her light of day with our
familiar moment of recognition.

not even the shaking ground
beneath our feet under threat
of worsening wind & rain,
there is a quiet heartbeat
reminder of a dream, a face,
a voice.

marisol perfects her smile
sleeping off the after-effects of
accidental indifference to
sensational connection. it
keeps us breathing each others air
until we light mismatched cigarettes,
admiring the reddish glow reflected
in each others eyes under our post-
sunset skyscape.

——————————————–

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.

——————————————–

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.

2 Responses to “the marisol poems…”

  1. I am speechless…. if only i could write the music I feel in response to your words……Love is such a small word to the feelings, dreams, desires and hopes I feel. All the Knights and Princes of the past are a mere shimmer, a gleam, a passing shadow of what you presented and held true to. An honest heart and eyes that show all are all that I need to seal our 3 days past forever. And as you sleep in our bed m,y darling dear my love and dreams are with you always.
    with the utmost love, adoration and dreams

    Your Marisol
    3 days past forever

    )0(

  2. #carribeanblue #onlytime #chinaroses #enya

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: