Dis Junction

Longing

Jazz shaman Ra! Medium dancer, romancer of HONK & SQUAWK a radiant 
star-gazer who lost birth for death is there (just over your left shoulder) 
which is a glance after which "Along Came Ra" wearing a silver 
skull-cap cover, fire in the head of Egypt, of Saturn born rings of 
saxaphone round the keyboard. Monkish intervals between this as 
wonder or as rust. Who continually returns to mangled chords, must 
lead a dance-chain on stage as aluminum streamers trail commet like 
Mingus and longingly looks homeward. 
~

Criss-Cross

Lake fog drifts onshore, wanders through birches, a log, a waft of 
smoke from fireplace three houses east is without sunrise tint, 
no glint off the quiet still water trickles in gutter drains. 
No such thing as silence. The leaning of small sounds is woven, 
it's own wave. Speak, utter names among bird calls; crow caw, 
jay squawk, a pair of king-fishers swoop, chitter, criss-cross the lagoon. 
~

Home

Apricot dawn bottom lit mauve cloud and a lone Fish Crow is a message 
regarding the science of apocalyptic solar flare brain-soul, dance tracks, 
another world where people move in fluid dynamics which is the driver of 
flow within bodies. A rhythmic slip-flow over-commotion, hermeneutics, 
interpretation and liquid jazz infusion o Sun Ra and his Arkestra, always 
in ex-static communication, Afrofuturist intervention, purple robes & gold, 
a twirl out of Egypt the eternal return to Saturn. 
~


Decollage

Open the chest expands with breath is a double, pulse is singluar 
skips like a stone. Traitors opened for the lord, red muscle plucked 
face-slapped with inner drum, blood & bone a flower blooms in a bower, 
it's all about power, really, the way of the opened body is a thing of 
beauty in which art is erruption, decollage, a thing, make it large or 
painted red which is so controlled as to impose order, banish chaos 
and anarchy. A thrown stone has an arc. 
~

How to Dance

Soft piano sunlight, the lit under-bellies of Common Terns slip 
to the west, carry the last vestages of Einstein and Monk who spoke of 
the same things in different languages, each knew how to dance when 
words failed them. It was really about cycling and a possble twirl in 
which gravity bends space and there is no need for a cabaret card. 
~


Sunrise Sonata

Cormorant morning is blue as whispers telling you of heart-stuff, 
newness, an eastern sun on Osprey wings which bring feathers and 
a special theory of intimacy. We relate to each other in spheres, 
thought bubble interfaces which allow our most private leanings 
to rub and caress at sunrise.
~

Epistles
(I)

Fire crackle, our personal intimacies are vesicles, ventricles as if
chambers, hollows carry liquid-soul in which carressings of inner 
walls have interruptions, erections, erruptions explode with embers 
as glowing epistles are stones where turgid members rise. 

(II)

We wander among the dandilions of flesh, wonder at their bright hope 
is the green that surrounds them, is the pink apple blossoms, the 
orchard becomes flush with whispers as wind moans and the Ace of Wands 
penetrates the humming of the bees.
~


May Queen

Sun-King, solar-heart embodied as we are; we radiate. Our eyes 
produce vapors, heart blood emissions nocturnal animals crawl, 
become road-kill. Genuflect, repeat mantra, Amitabha (Buddha of 
Infinite Light). Crows pick at possum belly, Om Ami Dewa Hri. 
Roadside Chicory is dusty purple amid Queen Anne's Lace. Our heart 
fluids find eyes, we embrace, we dance. Rays, lines of 
escape into Cardinal's red at the double yellow bars on blacktop. 

Here in our memory, we hold in paper bags, deer, stags, the drum 
in the belly of the world systems swirl as we skate away 
on thin ice a new day for the Sun-King as rising blood in which
we swim among apple trees in full blossoming rows within aromatic
quietude and the fan-wings of Turkey Vultures circling for the 
May Queen.
~

Ocean Avenue

Scattered, 
    pop-corn clouds drift 
        unpatterned behaviors 

Chaotic consequences, 
     habits are karma
       cycles, spirals, off-shore breezes

Shoulders brush
     boot-heel click, 
        rush to appointments. 

Copper wire basket weaver 
     hot sidewalk Santa Monica 
        leather-skinned Mexican. 

Scrap of paper flitters gutter, 
     dry wrasp, as last breath
        old couple holding hands 

On Ocean Avenue
~


Chart

Lost on some path in the Bardo of sleep, a woman I don't know 
in white, hitches a ride that funky music flinging notes from a 
cartogropher, a sketch, a chart, the fringes of which flutter in the 
sand falling through the egg timer of dreamtime where aborigines 
sing their maps through space which is an extension of how they gaze 
at their handprints on stone, red ocher prints, maybe a woman faces 
a wall of dancers all a man has is his foreskin offering on a wayward 
trail through a gap, a place thick pretensions about the flail of her 
far flung strands.
~


Rick

Dreamland oil pastels amazon cardboard ripped, torn, decollaged-sleep 
snow-squall momentum bearing East, smoothness under forefinger, to 
smear shock green into raw sienna along a black line, burnt-umber 
rememberances of hollow men. Black death is a rhyme scheme that 
attacks breath at the source is the true heart of things, of our 
digital intamacies in a time of viral upswell, men in camouflage 
playing at each others manhood with muzzled guns. How the brain houses 
all this calamity between sheets of cotton that howl in gail force 
unencumberments seeking a being-thrown-ness, into pairs of vessels 
waiting for "You and I"; you remember Rick James.
~


Hearts

A log tossed hopefully upon a non-pyre, no-spiders are a thing 
that exists infinitely wishing for them are objects a subject 
so full of sullied thought the lake-fog hides a loon embossed 
enthralled, wraped attention on bonfire, oh gliders listen rather
than shipwreck, rather than stone or ingestion of a lover's heart
throbbing muscle seeking transubstantiation as if the loon-song 
were an invitation is a missive as abandonment not in desire but 
in service me won't you? The South shore of being-with ensconsed in 
velvety fourteenth century hearts in which there is this as or within
a way of abiding.
~

Sleep-soul

(I)

Oddly intuition speaks in tongues gently pry into waking moments 
of soft mushy brain-fuzz clings to stubble face morning breath 
before anything rejuvenates memory in which clots of previous 
thought clutter as balls of blood some kids kick in the dust as sun 
bursts each eye opening upon the leakage of sleep-soul release under 
rib-cage diaphram prohibiting seeds of some unthought idea.

(II)

Initial eye cracked open window screen of May gulls screech loudly 
enough to pull the lake up in tortured white as if salmon as if blue 
heron wings slow sinusoidal flow ripple spring and all the air 
currents shift downward to enter me through the opening in my belly 
just below ribs which were plucked for forming women who sing in cagey 
ways in which my sleep-soul jitterbugs for them.
~

Jouisance

Sunlight falls into patches of veridian frosted silver May dawning 
on rods cones receptors of white tipped Juneberry blossoms waver with 
one singular purple finch's chitter muffled through glass the hordes 
of waves crash roiling over grasses make queer sounds each blade 
licks its sisters's masses of dewy quivering flesh if you open the door 
to place your ear ecstatically close to them all writhing in 
disobediant pleasure. 
~


Chugging

A tactile sense this hand reaches out beyond I is the horizon of 
I the fuzzy edge of being of a blanket statement about us, the we
which initiates cotton medium is soft cover over feet are always 
the way this hand approaches contact in covid has kept apart 
somatosensory deprovation as he watches his expiration train 
chugging tracks rail vibration of the body when gently caressed.
~


As Brits
In between two soft lights, the fleshy bits of woven roped off 
sidewalk art some kid catches an instant in the eye is the water 
bubble surface tension. Hold it in your afternoon cocktail rhyme 
game with Spokane, the lid hatch fan incumbant upon the lies which 
falter, faster, in a chalk-like way that Columbia County hills trolly 
the fields of mud ruts as a stag; one thinks this but the recycling 
bottom in tight black knickers bundles batches of mismatched synapses 
light a fag as brits with fire.
~

Crawl

Awakening to rectangular aperture overlook wave after last night
gray is a dull thud of brink to wonder at, as if this kamikaze 
bumble bee, fractured thwacks are the signal, the carrier is the 
lake's erosive nature. Detritus in the mind can fog conversant 
behaviors, rhyme what is meant, a spent phrase slips the coastal
bluff; he has to crawl, pull the dead weight of this which leaves us.
~


Unknown

A pair of Merganzers, ducks paddle webbed feet unseen forces
work on us like gravity makes flesh sag gut lugged up mountain range 
between thoughts and spoken word virus said Burroughs was a brilliant 
light which blinds angle, hang, dangle of the draw-string at dawn the
thing is to step out into it; the male turns East, where the sun
hides from an unknown as we all do.
~

Grievance

The lake water is clear intentions form like stones get carried 
by waves scallop at the horizon of his mind clicks the light switch
thirty seconds between grasping at ribbons dangle from liquid ceiling
his fate to watch. His father's pocket carried the time, tic,
near interventions wallop thought patterns of rasping speach is only 
words, bridges between us and the sense in loss there is an 
implicit grievance against dementia.
~

Angle 

Everything leans like a stick with it's shadow against a tree
full of chutzpah means a click of highhealed shoes leave
an impressonist's glint of eye shadow under three full
strides between chicory at the roadside or the angle 
at which one leans.
~


Acceleration

Hot coals glow the fire in my head explodes the way the world 
spirals grow elastic straps 

for the mask
               holds the male gaze at the sunset's last chance 
               upon an owl pellet

for the mask
               holds a poem like a prayer some Jesus postcard 
               nobody winds up sending

for the mask
               holds always, always, always these 
               days like this rotates a thought

for the mask
               your eyes fall as glitter for begetting stars
               in a child like a gazelle's acceleration is
~