Sunday, November 6, 2016


Afternoon, spliced light
Seeing through the nothing that sits there.
Obvious in its abatement of elephants
Floating through time
Rummaging for anything
But what is wanted- most.

No more questions.
Just a pilgrimage of sound
Entering into Ego, inflating who once stood tall
Among the orbit of my energies
Orchestrating the ooze of our chorus
And splatter-painting the dark pink interior.

It is all a history of sound
A painted memory hung in olfactory galleries
Leaning on cells not yet dissolved.
Perforated snapshots with buckling edges
Guilting the body into a more articulated gate
Into the hands of others.

Desperation leads the waning light
In through well-oiled doors, locked to nothing
Now that the influx of possibilities has generously widened.
The goal-setting  time has clung to my movements
A queue of patient procedures that nod their head in ‘now’
Ready the arm to ardently welcome the stronger lead.

I am backed now, by my own understanding.
Mindful more than ever of the ‘where-to-from-here’
Long-settled dust blows free, along with stubborn tendencies
Into the cavern of necessities’ dictates.
Stretching now for the longer run.
Into the upgrade I have earned.

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