Adaption

Ink can slip onto  and stain a page

I think it can permeate a world around

it that can see it then re-see it new

                             and adapt it to the stage.

The symbals clash, the lights rush up. Both astound

A staring crowd.  So start up yr. casual

stroll from the wings, not forgetting yr. casual

role.

shackled in full moon’s shadow

if my bloody feet

work the way

up my path as they

might,  come day,

                 .

these falls,  this stumbling,

All before my Moonlight

would be humbling

with goodly reason.

“slightly mysterious bruises”

I don’t know what it is
But you got to do it
I don’t know where to go
But you got to be there
I don’t know where to fall
But I know that its comfortable where
I don’t know where it is

Putting all of my time
In learning to care
And a bucket of rhymes
I threw up somewhere
Want a locket of who
Made me lose my perfunctory view
Of all that is around
And of all that I do

So I knock on the door
Take a step that is new
Never been here before
Is there anyone else here too
In love with beauty
Playing all of the games
Who thinks three’s company
Is there anyone else who wears slightly mysterious brusies…”

                                                                                        Rufus Wainwright, From “I Don’t Know What It Is”

Phamalogical Cars

My body suspects I’m still self-respectful

When I go and swallow a handful of pills

All my doctors direct me to down them

Before bed where she waits there

For her old man to come there

For her old man to come.

I reckon I’ll say I am an Okay old wreck

And I recognize that there’s more than a hint

I’m a nice but not mint

                                                  old wreck.

                                     .

                                     .

Somebody suspects she’s still healthy

She just says no  to chemo therapy, no handful of pills

But the doctor suggested she

Just go with good meds

Just a boost to bolster up heads

When grey clouds are displaced by blacks

Painful tears fall   / rain squalls.

You hope after a sound sleep,

To cope, you have found peace

When you surface  I recognize

You are a beautiful wreck

I reckon we’re beautiful wrecks

I see us  as still waiting,

still water

still running

beautiful wrecks

One Warning

It’s not only at night

One ought to be quiet

So as not to .startle

A sleepwalking man

                .

So  you stay still

Mostly  I still do

I wouldn’t awaken

A sleepwalking man

                         .

He’s steering past scenery

He’s deaf to the dreadful din

It’s as if imbedded in him

An old ghost holes up

And mostly he still goes

All lost.

He’s explosive

World wrecking

But mostly he’s expecting

All lost.

s t I N K

of all the lies

in the air

that this liar

is truely unaware of

(is  ’truely’  the right word?)

of all the lies

casual and caressing there

the air currents  n

night blooming jasmine

(is  ’current’  the correct word?)

the golden ones have come from…

(I’ve told em. All alchemy.)

emboldened lies, all born, I imagine,

from an open pen draining onto pages,

                                      .

from nothing.