August Dictation

August 2013 -New Work -Stream of consciousness

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Dreaming in Dragon Speak

I remember that moment it all finally let go after that night that the weather channel showed an asteroid bull’s-eye hit on Las Vegas and toasting the West Coast for us and everything was off-line and it was getting colder and the snow in June was falling when I ran into her again and she had blue roller stake scales on her chest jets installments.

They still made love.

Holding on the march to war too long

then May sang again with warmth returning as students graduate into the chill.

Some of this was returning to you up to the your old tricks perhaps however just never coming to this extent. In locked out eyes just come to things that were booked in the newness of what was never happening and still that pain did wash away the conversation about holding on too long.

There never are enough thundering trains.

What was ever left behind replaced with that she could never take from you

But had no problem in making sure you remembered her alone.

a lifetime searching your place in this

eternal city of removal loss while the loneliness might have been the price of purchase

the gifts discarded by a different stove.

You amused yourself in dismissal, qualification and disingenuous praise.

Round two

the color is falling

and waiting

still to be managed

down the gutter pipe flowed memory in common fluidity

to drain away to a faceless anonymity

and it’s always been

this way

at the bar only left was

May Woodlice holding court was

still thinking about what was once their lines

in faces discarded galore

but still recalled back to life

the eyes which once shared

in Mexico the world in Chapter 9 forever this is going to have to be sorted out – perhaps

there would have to be about a bargain struck in the way these words flowed on to page

there is this counterbalance moment and you can feel the interim that you measured that there is no expectation of comprehension

you know yourself well enough to know when to leave well enough not alone

what to hold on to if her shreds didn’t leave you alone

exhilarating moments decimated and disgraced

going to heat up around in fouled pipes

and you position yourself next to another one who looked at you like

just another alleged walk on suspect

with a derivative script, heart of concrete and a dull axe to grid

but…you have no idea…..The volcano you sit upon.

In the Front Row

infinity must be like this only without flesh flows morning words loneliness. All in yes the lack of television and all the other devices electronic distractions.

Sitting in the window of the international bar that afternoon the Quattro Vox inflection had spread down the block.

These thoughts without words or concept is something to consider how we will know the object ? Well there buddy …by the abstract painting it represents or resents

and where in this world Rubber Eden strolls by your fear.

I know Dad

I should be upstairs

we do have company

I walk by your workbench down here in the cellar and it’s as hot Friday evening at the end of May so the light coming through the window and rests for second sitting here having cold beer halls for a few minutes with the author Godfrey delay lights which you need because because accidents in the dark need not have to happen if you have the right switch the and you should.

And Edna is having a snack and drink and then some steak and spinach up in the family room cooked I hope the way you would’ve made for her.

And right now I want some Charlie Christian playing the sound of your laughter while too soon it will be time to head up there and let this moment little go.

I will just like you –

make this right…. but I never intended to sit sunset shadows of you cascading through the collar through the cellar windows and looking at all really cool stuff still hanging on colored push pins and I was left behind still astounded by your passing.

Digging Johnny DC

I can still see him up on top of that Summer ladder painting the storefront of White’s hardware dressed in his painter’s pants and a button-down white shirt with that wild batch of black curly up there hanging loose his arm slung around the top rung so young and lush in the white paint glow looking down at her at the foot of the sidewalk and she had long black curly hair and was rail thin a splinter really and he was smiling delighted and wild down at her. She was doing the same up at him and I can still hear him now say “just hold tight, don’t get lost on me I’ll be right down there in about half an hour and you decide where we should go have a drink.”

At the end of turned pages

June gushing stream

vibrant shrouds and shade ripples in shadows

all the busy harsh traffic sounds so far away

I can gently orbit here just minutes from another planet nearby that I need not visit

in the newborn summer heat the rustle of the red maples from St. Agnes or genuflecting and benediction rustling in acknowledgment.

The progressing afternoon like apple red patterns in undulating rhythm

where the wavelengths frequency of sound light exchanged glances and

remember the last time they danced like this.

Memory

Still I glanced over at the empty chair. And long and long for chance to speak again.

I do see it terrible now in the marketplace with age years in your face