Friday, November 27, 2015

Bruegel Bone

Gravity thickens with mass just as words do
When cotton is to cloth what squeezing is
A recruitment thickening with meat
That sells for a dollar at the local emotion
Spirit and color walking in bone. There
Is a power within us that will chirp its way
To Scotland with a drug on its shoulder
All dreamy and soft. You can hear it
In the rain as it strains to make itself
Multifarious like Ted Berrigan’s sonnets
The turmoil is in the house, which is lousy
With mushrooms and haggis. Surely
An axle is as wet as its veins. It was all sidewalks
Then breaking and imagery in the wind
Thudding through the trees like a theory
Mutating into thought. I just am. I’m
Serious as candy. The reason for aging is wrinkles
And unresolved emotional issues. I also have
A rapier. This is for remembering and thinking
I like puddles not puzzles. I like the idea
Of playing a harmonica more than actually
Playing a harmonica. This is good for me, good
For you. Before the journey ends I just want
To kiss you all over and say what a joy it has been
To ride through the laundromat on a comet
Aching and romantic, a saga of unfocussed rage
Enough, at least, to inspire a pharmaceutical
The sunlight likes you too you know you should
Go on a pretty migration through space
Talking about snow and the odor of elephants
There is a mythology of absorption in the way
It is written with a garden hose I feel all thick
And bubbly now and intend to cause art. This is how
Consciousness bounces around. We put a little
Thought into it and as soon as the enamel is shaped
Like a knock at the door, there’s a quiet solemn group
Of hunters returning in the snow

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