Sunday, May 3, 2015

In the Drool of Twilight

I like to gather shadows, anything
Perception is a process, shuffleboard
In the basement of a dark bar
Whipped cream maps ambient webs
I concoct a climate that shatters into reality
And hatches a bakery. I feel my feelings
As they thicken and glow. I ride a green train
Whose eyebrows are effervescent diversions
Of hair. You don’t expect this from trains
This is why I smell like a suitcase and go
For those really big metaphors, like Manhattan
Whose ceilings are clandestine residues
Of consciousness exploded out of time
And space. And now it’s time to break
Into abstraction and tell you about cloth
And how it becomes clothing, even
When you’re not looking. Take a look
At Picasso painting in his underwear
Some people go for algebra, but me
I like denim and silk. Money is lousy
With sophistication but it doesn’t serve
My purposes at the moment. I’m laboring
To make a point, which is coughing
While the dictionary explodes
I don’t believe in water
I experience water. Dear Skin
I like your touch and openness   
But where shall I put my paddle
When the paddling is done?
Identity hangs in the mind of the identifier
The rest of this poem is flailing around
In its own diversions. This is serious
Is that a door in your head? Or a bas-relief
Comet churning in a washing machine?
Blood is where it should be and Asia
Is genial with a thousand themes
In the drool of twilight

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