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