Liquid Geometry

I like the liquid geometry of snow. There’s a carnation in my simplicity. It squirts water when you lean in to look at it up close. There are patterns a spider will display that hypnotize by extension and weave a web with words. Lignite is mentioned in the nursing home and this sheds light on the birth of a god. I see a man dancing alone in his room and wonder if the jetsam surrounding his life will give an epidermis to the grandeur of night. I can see things dance that aren’t even hammers. A waltz is not a lacquer but it will shine out like a shout of ovation. I decipher a jig and position myself somewhere south of an ideology based on a daydream. I can ovulate anything if I have enough time and a good reason to sit down and play the harmonica. Eggs lay at my feet. They hatch little mothers of mist and suction. Nobody knows what to do with the teacher. She came in a blue ’61 Pontiac Bonneville and pulled out a gun and shot holes in the space-time continuum with a 9 millimeter Smith & Wesson. Then she sat us all down and taught us how to break out of a Mexican jail with a rhythm and a paradox. She keeps us busy learning things. Decorum, forensics, spectroscopy and woodcraft. Sooner or later a mania will arrive on a seahorse and hang from the ceiling like Sardinia in July. If that happens you can be sure that the personal is plausible that prances around in leather with a feather boa and a leopard named Larry. For all things have a name, except the unnamable, and they shall remain nameless. Next time I write something I’ll begin with a good idea and then blow it up with a stick of language. I’m going to start the engine now. Let’s see what happens when the sentence lights up and we see an oriole flying toward us with a momentum that shakes lightning out of the clouds and a convincing pretext, or wings, which are ways to plead with the air and rise into the sky.