Tuesday, May 27, 2014


I perceive my brain
like a broken stick in
the games caught on the
man-made pipes that
ruin the view, breaking rapids,
bundle leaves, tall grass,
growth in shallows, on the
unnecessarily blacktopped
edges of dirt seeking roads,

I am a closet phantom in
my own, only reality,
watching strangers pass,
writing their stories in my
fixed mind/meld  molten idea factory
bereft with excuses,
why & how & when &

does it even matter?

in the cosmos ending conspiracy
window, from soaring wooden
complex space station, I'm
drowning in applewood
smoke--sifting through
the membrane notions--
     waiting on the aftereffect
trip, the endless storyboard
of forgotten iconography;
     listen little lost one,
music grates like potatoes
on the slicing block fast food
assembly line falling in my
greased pan--
     boiled first I perceive reality
coming on, inventing itself.

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