Time Is a Single Flutter

[“It could not be,” Seven shakes his head as he whispers to himself.

Janis returns. “Are you, okay?” She is carrying a Green Fairy and stops in front of him.

Seven sighs, “nothing that another tequila won’t fix,” he pushes his pony forward.

Janis sets the Absinthe down next to him at the empty seat.]

Smoke and vapor fall forever fantasy lapse Lil(ith)
Paste protocol partially past the last breath,
a memento rouses ardor, absence, absinthe (Lil).
It is a dark night anomaly, tranquil anodyne,
(emerald, ruby, and pearl) sapphire and gold
grasp a gregarious grin and gracious bow.

Predictable Nox (script) in semiprecious stone,
and the same clutch, constant variation transfer,
contemporary remittance utterance con solo
(too close, to wait) reverberate and perpetuate.

Sink the solitude salacious saffron bees,
in a gist of flashbacks forward in the flesh time.
drones dance dynamic duos Deus domino (discord),
discard spent asphalt and noise are old thoughts
and sad flapping anger with misconceptions;
vacation varies the valence of visitors, so
familiars formulate the state of respite.

[Do the dead use memory as a pathway to the now? Seven puzzles.]

Fires flower, rumble above the tide in a tango tantric
love and lust, rut summer’s solstice sequins sequence
sand and water cool. The wind wanes after sunset’s
touch, soft in a huddle against offshore fog and chill.
Lil swathes her firm arm around syncopated shivers
With a squeeze and beguile (getaway ghost giggles),
emotions collect, collapse, and compact a sole packet;
as if all time is a single flutter not discrete divisions
or directions diligent in reliable results, and not null.

Voluptuous velvet buss suspends abeyance.
Swift breath murmurs voracious heartbeats.
Rend the running rhinoceros, grey eyes shut
in visions, sticky existential Kundalini’s salt;
grunting, grueling, grind armor amore;
escalate effervescent emulsion equal.
Ebullition exhale empty protocols
and consequence parallel.

We fell into a still life (calm flats) all a jumble
Flatlands flicker at a casual rendezvous
tessellate time lumen, tremors pulse fitful
Anew and renew repeat irrevocable intervals
Adrift, end, begin, end, and again, again, again;
but I am not going anywhere, anyway, any hour;
a communion conjured in clay and fire. (Hard stop.)

[Seven wipes the sweat from his brow. The Green Fairy’s glass is empty.]

Advertisements
Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Breaths of light, Blue wisp of wind and regale

Shadow of myth and murk ubiquity, light and dark adduce each other; recurse isolation impression (memory). Shake cup, click dice, clatter and quiver, perpetual present tense pirouette character caricature benediction recognition sequence hash (key) haberdasher block-chain archeology.

[She bumps Seven with her case, “Sorry,” she says and blushes. She wedges it closer to her legs.]

Machine dreams in context counts; lips love liquid levity and brevity, aurora as always null and meager, longing to return receded recidivist fluctuates forever in the ad hoc fragment discontinuity anomaly, perception probable and precipitate, dead too young discontinuity, defunct garden bees, not honey. Honeymoon homonym ash and all those things–mosquito wings, carbon puddles, breaths of light, blue wisp of wind and regale, indirect. (It’s) always the same patterns to escape–I’ve been here before–the same coat and shoe perpetuity love could not change the (rain) derivative [consequence].

[“No problem,” he replies and smiles.”]

Random winsome naïve and unprepared swamp mountain sojourns on plateau without predilection or probability, from one reminiscence to the next, myriad synonyms suffocate wonton ephemera egress, blue, extraneous nirvana ocellus, thorax, and omega verses. Vendetta vanity fantasies of being enough to warrant the need, desire, rose-water vassal, candlewick consequence calliope cacophony un lived unmade unknown (knowing) circuit of everyone known in the pinch asymmetry of salt and disparity, to survive conversations clear In the dreams of other’s antiquity.

[She returns his glance with recognition, and then wisp, she’s gone.]

[“It can’t be.” Seven says, out loud. She died too young, he thinks and turns back toward the bar.]

Posted in Book 3 Beta, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

GOP “Moral Values.”

To sum up GOP “morality” of the past week, what have we learned?

Seventeen dead children need thoughts and prayers without intent to act, also known as vanity. Something for which alt-Jesus is well known, respected, and preached-love thy self as thy self. He loved his golden streets, his 75-room mansion, and his latest’s greatest new private jet.

It’s too early to talk about gun regulations. Sure another disgruntled, mentally questionable, “Christian” republican trump-supporter is going to kill more school children or families, and it still will not be time to talk about gun control. “Those are good people too.” Does it really matter how many children when GOP pockets are not going to fill themselves?

The dead children and their educators were paid professional actors, a “false flag operation.” Got the new republican “moral value,” pedo-necrophilia?

The GOP administration in the White House is happy for smoke breaks from talking about collaboration, collusion, and treason from its own party with a competitive, combative enemy of the USA, Russia. Where are trump’s tax returns?

We don’t need gun control to protect our precious future; we need more God in schools. We don’t already have more churches and prisons than universities. Separation of church and state was created to guard against the failed, brutal, fascist, theocratic tyrannies of history. If neighborhood churches across the street from each other cannot agree on the value of their metaphors, let’s create a government and justice system that cannot either. We would rather burn witches at the stake, along with, minorities, women, non-Christians, immigrants, the disabled, the old, scientists, neighbors with nicer cars, lawns, or the inappropriate hat color, left-handers, or anyone at all-even our own children–that we hate, that we are jealous of or who inconveniences us or disagrees with us.

We just need to arm teachers, even if we can’t afford to pay for their pens, pencils, paints, chalk, paper, notebooks, and textbooks. We’ll never pay for their guns, ammunition, threat training, liability insurance, or combat pay; we can’t afford it. Our selfishness won’t let us repair potholes on our own neighborhood street, or keep our water and air clean, so how can we possibly afford an AR-15 for combat-educators?

It’s too late for gun regulations, what can we possible do if we only live in the past and can’t fathom an original thought or solution? Why bother? If it’s not me, not my family, who cares? The billions and billions and billions of criminals already have guns, so how can we protect ourselves? Shoot your neighbors before they shoot you first, preemptive 2nd Amendment protection.

“Did you not see my speech notes to remind me that human beings have value?” Said the soulless republican in the White House.

Posted in It occurs to me... | Tagged , | Leave a comment

A Whisper of the Whistler’s Ghost

Incidental memory, colored glass,
fast focus five favor forever pharmacy.
The fortress fluctuates–the final, final–
last latitude of lassitude levitate
laterally lend the lexical leer pear,
(saucer snow milk melt) mirror
participant prime dime (rhymes)
deter disagree designates disappear
disillusioned.

[“Hello Seven.” She says]

Juncture journey’s on fervor’s pyre
rocks non-wood wood bash
bag and wag, lag with a sole snag
over a flag at a summertime beach.
Participate perpetually grind granite
into sand and sand slag sand
out of shoes symbols synch,
waltz repeat as bytes pixelate.
Fluctuate, smudge, flicker, flash
fidget clock hand ticks forget.
Objects orient in abstract snow,
static and flack in a stasis dynamo
rumor, whisper, puff, and wisp,
(static stasis stereoscope filter,
dissipate)

[Seven shakes his head and blinks his eyes.
He furls his brow and stares at empty space.]

Abstract to act actual soil soul and sorrow,
words or pictures on parallel pathway steps.
A fool and his memory, his property and pride
reminisce with fidelity’s familiarity clarity
and fabricate fortune phantasm fantasies.
Spirit or sprite sputtering spectacle
ghost compost, or female form (data),
A hallucination? A single shot of mescal?
Mescalito melancholy carves a conundrum.
The needful necessary crisp air astral alleyway O2
are steps and door through shadow and light,
cigarette, cigar, pipe, or pre-roll preponderance.

[“Of all the moments,” Seven sighs, “this one now?”]

The straw man in the alley raises his viola.
Out of tune horse hairs flicker as its bow
bends bulk on the outward friction abrasion.
He brays, bumps bear, and squeaks;
yips, yaps bulk slide staccato stiffener
and starts a stolid song sad in a minor key.
Through eyeless parse, erratic, and bittersweet,
the fiddler smiles with missing teeth.
He flicks quick his wrist wrinkle and
shakes his shaggy coif with a wink,
forces a fatigued grin, dandy spin.
Wiser eyes shutter shut and into the fog
he casts a whistle true to tonight’s thistles.
Lilith lithe alights behind my eyes.

[Seven recalls Lilith’s scent, perfume and not.]

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

By All Indications, She Arrived Intact

Blue-sky boulevard and green sea
the one route (bus) glides interface,
shivers, rumbles, diesel spent
over miles, concrete, reflective paint.
Asphalt ubiquity and texture,
time In the lapse pluperfect (pre-past)
mythos method enter intermission;
pretense insects intersect intent,
awhile underground submarine
evading memory and probability,
cache come, caught, and cursory.

[Must update my news reader, Seven thinks
to himself as he pushes smudges around
the dirty screen of his smart phone.]

To the land rust/lust and sand soft,
where wind at her shoulders rustles
fair hair and song lucre lend
barrow sail, AC generator sparks
gap consequence and ghosts,
stagnant sweet sweat repose.

Heckle, Jeckle, and Leopoldo
on the wind wing wander
the lackadaisical largesse whisper
wisp zephyr black coat, black
eyes, and black heart, vilely viscid,
alight airless on scrub scrap’s edge.

Waves ripple, crash, and swish
Love and machine wash mécanique,
repeat cycle cylinder certitude
syncopate certificate and synapse,
snip, snap, tap, clack, and click.
Call yourself on the phone, anodyne
methadone, nirvana-done make believe.

[Seven (VII) sips the tequila,
then two full gulps of the hops, dank.]

Click clavicle clavier clear enough
penumbra pale ale aberration piper,
calaboose less than cold and less
than full ice melts as ice often does.
Cuticles consummate in colors captivate
rich skin tones and chemical cure
while chills challenge ceaseless slack
and boots befit their fetterless feet.
Dreamers do the same as they always do,
sand castles under hat in a potato sack
or flame on sticks to not pick up quick,
existential bits and trick tar/-bytes.

Nicotine null bee stumbles at sunset,
so back on the one (bus) route recruit,
reality in the verity veracious spin spun
spent wink wonk recall peck probable
pollen to honey to pollen to honey echo
blossom myth of insects in perpetuity,
and (repeat.)

[“Hello,” VII says as she bumps him with her large case
while sitting down on the stool next to him at the bar.
“Sorry,” she blushes and stuffs it at her feet.]

Posted in Book 3 Beta, Poetry | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

It Always Starts in a Bar

Boat tail comic book angel(beta)
summer into autumn treble
castanets and silver under toe
pistol plank the walk willow
too fallow and too frequent
barley bumps and bluster crisp
pause through the window blouse,
and wash out the anima mundi.

[What are you drinkin’?]

Red wing cattail reed,
her hair hangs like heat and
hurricane-eye of the storm,
drops to her shoulder glimmer,
sure sign sequence soliloquy
salute a conquistador’s uproar;
sympathetic, symphonic, symmetry
as remains and remnants revel reveal.

[Rattle dice, slam cup.]

Scrape shoe leather laminate,
probable patterns permeate
philosophy and pink churn
Summer wanes in rains of
wailing asphalt, ozone, oil,
burnt tire rubber residues.

[Tequila neat and a beer, well, Seven answers.]

Mescalito, the scorpion point period
(God) guards golden gossamer
windmill threads of consciousness.
spectacles, spats, splinters, spurious
glee, and sulfur cream delight.

Vinyl cracks under weight undulate
(under-verse) wooden creaks, groans
gobble pretense selfie smear lips
stick smack napkin nod nearby.

[Cazadores?]

Posted in Book 3 Beta, Flight of Fancy | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

I have chosen my side.

Some family, friends, and acquaintances may be upset with my anger toward the election outcome. That is okay. You are welcome to un-friend me, un-follow me, or re-group me. I will not be offended or hold it against you. If Donald Trump had been a respectful person who understood and appreciated the honor it is to serve this county and it’s strengths, then I might be disappointed, but I would give him the chance he deserves to succeed.

Donald Trump is not that person, and I am as angry as a walloped nest of killer bees. I have had quite enough hate speech and hateful opinions and religious bigotry to last a lifetime. I will no longer placate or turn away from it, but will confront it directly with humor, with facts, with all and everything in my ability. If you cannot handle that, then don’t keep company with me. It’s a win/win as far as I am concerned.

I am not a perfect person. I have many flaws and work everyday at reducing them. I try to keep my mind and heart open. I see no other way to be a better person, not just rich or popular or powerful. To me, “an unexamined life is not worth living.”

The GOP have obstructed President Obama at every turn, and disrespected him and his family as well as the office of the President. I may not always agree with Obama or his policies, but I know his heart is in the right place. By not hearing his SCOTUS appointee, the GOP has shown their contempt for the Constitution and all the citizens of this country. I used to respect the GOP as a group of fiscal conservatives who put country above ones self. I hoped that they would disagree and debate based on the tenants of their party and compromise appropriately. As beige as it may seem, I’ve never joined either party. I tend vote for positive solutions to real world problems facing all of us. I believe in a two or more party system and that good government requires compromise. Opposing sides sit down and debate to a mutual conclusion that will work for the most Americans, not just special interests, single agendas, single belief systems, or even their own constituents. Not an easy thing in my opinion, but no one has ever claimed that it would be. Now the GOP just wants to starve the government and the common good, while robbing it of its resources and making themselves rich. The other party has a corruption problem as well, and my belief in both has weakened substantially.

Trump is a narcissist, a white supremacist, a misogynist and a menace. He is too quick to anger, too quick to react, seeks revenge instead of persuasion, builds walls instead of bridges, and holds all and any difference of opinion with absolute disdain. He has never had to deal or accept personal responsibility for his failures. He has never served anyone, but himself. Government is about service not profit. Instead, he derides our diversity, our multitude of customs and languages; our personal spiritual beliefs that make this country strong, to divide, manipulate, and exploit us. It’s rigged; it’s beneath him; it’s just words. No, Mr. Trump, words matter and have consequences; and the words of the single most powerful person on the planet have far reaching consequences.

I will give to Mr. Trump and anyone he associates with or believes in the same amount of respect he gives to veterans, the handicapped, to women, to the LGBT+ community, or to anyone who is not his race. I will no longer tolerate or roll over to bigotry, racism, or misogyny. If the tin-pot dictator with the little fingers was looking for a fight over civil liberties, he’s got one, and I’ve chosen my side.

Posted in It occurs to me... | Tagged , , | Leave a comment