Honestly, I'm a Liar, & Other Balances & Imbalances

January 5, 2013

Free From The Fix

FREE FROM THE FIX (I can find myself in)

January 5, 2013

Court fans helped cool it all down.

They  called  it

On account of a hung jury.

Collective  unconscious,

Jung’s blurred things,

His thinking slurred all the town.

The thing is, I’m thinking,

Not “It’s a hot July”,

As the massive Law’s doors

Miss and swing by and behind me,

But “It’s way tres’ cool for a hot July.”

October 9, 2012

Setting The Table

Aw heck,  on a lark,

I likely heard a   “Hark,

Hear all this  beck and call”.

There, I see it had hailed from  icy altitudes.

So, when I wised up some, and tried to listen,

At this end, I waited, and while I waited, I understood.

It wasn’t  the explanation,

It was the going  on & on deal,

Passing time,

It was  setting the table,  not the meal.

August 15, 2012

BLOOD SHADOWS OILS FOR LATER

 

In the upper peninsula of Michigan
blustery State Road 2 you must go.
It’s quite common to drive over
deep blood in snow/ dead buck or  doe./
Just as felines must fall & fill gutters
South of there, all over./
deep blood in the snow./
With the people of upper Michigan
it’s quite common  they’ll drag & drape over
& tie up their meat
off the back of their battered trucks
and freight it home to their freezers
for later./

Here in Southwest Florida
on the way to work
it’s uncommon…
(I called out  “Oh My God!”)
it’s uncommon to drive over…
(I killed  an alligator)
I was light on sleep and late for work/
All in a dream’s dread,  in my headlights,
I called out  “Oh my God!”

Still, Later, When I left working, dark and yet dawning
(I had  left It for the taking.  &  It was gone.)
Still were spilled  shadows. most  it was gone.

Lost. home, what would save me?
milk cream & alcohol
Nor Down on my knees
under some Art on a wall;
Oils had spilled on an
empty space clean/
I know this all is from All.
(I called in “oh my god”)

.
stains for a dream

.

.

.

.

.

(from 3 yrs ago, true story)

August 4, 2012

SOME BRUSHES WITH FAME

 

 

 

Spaulding Gray,   RIP

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=coxoEhQmjzY

Met, when he approached me, introduced himself and invited me to join him onstage for a performance, seriously

.

Barry Sobel

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sx1aRIj9LdQ

met in an odd situation, introduced him to my brother

.

Richard Thompson

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i9qHEoCfzjw&feature=digest

met  twice for a backstage meet & greet

a hero

.

.

now, it’s yr turn. Do Tell

August 3, 2012

COMMENNUIQUE’

 

 

While you come out and say

You might await some communique’

I might just wait some

To formulate  some take on

Raw data  streaming onto the tarmac

(Surreally so As filmstrip will go spill  off a reel)

This all filling files somewhere

There must  have been plenty

Taking place.

.

Night, when there might have been plenty

Taking place

I escaped unscathed, tho’ scattered

It remains to be seen & heard

If I would make  it matter

It can be  there may be  plenty

Taking place.

December 20, 2011

Sillypedia (And Not A Child In Sight)

“..On tender hooks”/

Is a folk saying, a phrase/

Generally meaning/

Well, I’m not sure but/

I’m kinda sure that the expression got it’s start…/

Some thing to do with butchering meat/

“We’re all on tender hooks” could mean, imagine/

We’re precariously hanging in a freezer/

Waiting for…well, you know./

I think I’ve also heard some people say/

“On tender hoofs”  or hooves maybe/

which would obviously be an entirely different matter/

Complete with entirely different origins/

I’m thinking this time   We’re cattle again/

But this time we must walk softly as to not step in anything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

S

 

December 2, 2011

Like Consequences, Early.

As rising tides of daylight’s ocean

Slice wide  through the blinds & the shrubs behind the blinds,

The sun,

Regretfilled notions

Upset upon me   1  by  1

Apparitions

July 26, 2011

red sweater

There’s  this  Delores

At a fire, down the dunes

I can see this far

from up here

They like talking about her

By her name, while she’s there

Then, when she decides

To add another take to the fire

Her sound is sure

Though  her hair  is in her eyes

And on her red sweater

She’ not yet pure enough

to sense

I long for her  here

Forty  years  on

June 17, 2011

THREAT

There’s this effing coughing guy.

Coughing his damn fool sick muccoused  head.

He’s right behind me.

I’d bet half the health insurance check I’ll need

He’ll reject  deflecting all that sick  and

No manners to lift up that handy hefty hand.

He keeps coughing, this jerk,

&  me with three hours  of work

&  then I’m free,  or start to be.

When I reach my  muy  private beach…

Known for its   internal tune up  sun

 Its eternal straightline horizon

.

Three hours and It’s a Go

Leave this stress that  god I know

This thing with cough  just threatens  “No”

May 29, 2011

Coarsely Course Through You, To Coerce You To Beauty

how Art thou? Do you drink from the deep sink of inspired creations at an art museum, gallery, or maybe a street art fair on a street near you?sometimes?
Do you have something on one of your walls that you could only fall for?
And, can’t help but stare?
It’s an important thing,dontcha think?
It has been from an early age for me.
I’m told that soon after I found my father who had killed himself (the Hemingway), while all the distraught adults who knew & loved him were off balance with emotional & practical adjustments (like selling the house and moving on)
a forgotten first son had got into several paint cans and expressed quite a colorful statement on the backside of the new house for sale.
                   I
I was perched high for me
in a pinepitchtree
and waited out what I did
as I watched our house’s back side
where I painted from all the paint cans
stacked out back. Though very new plans
made us move away from that life.
Daddy had died and left that life.
Somebody and something could only cover
that work.
                               

                                 II

a french girl with hair from the girl in Breathless
was our art teacher that visited
Miss Blue’s 3rd grade class,
and liked my painting so much
she asked if she could take it
for a contest, or a book she was working on.
The blurry greens and blacks,
browns and blues was a ship in a storm.
I never saw it again but
somebody and something could only recover
that work.

still, tie me to the mast.

and

I must get the next good grasp
still, the next limb up
to see some.

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