Here the the land is still
People run to find comfort like rivers
Through their lives exerting emotion
as their legs move
Here the sun hangs
There is no night
The haze is unapologetic
People run in herds like deer
Here the mountains teach
Valleys listen
Rock and tree vibrates
People hide from severing silence
Through the mist
On and on unknowing
feeling for the edges of the land
spinning searching inside the sense of my direction
Through the mist I crawl
Its humidity allows me levity and life
Further rolling over the morning landscape
Fighting to obscure what the sun would illuminate
I roll and waver
Condense and expand
I eat the ground and digest it in dampness
I cool the the thick concrete and infiltrate it all
I raise a ton of phantoms
Painting the land in their apparitions
I delay the sky
I delay the sky!
There it is sealed from under a mall.
The shops on top.
Foot traffic crosses those smooth floors.
They are all polished to the same degree as faces.
I could feel and hear the squelch of rubber souls forced against linoleum.
Uncomplaining yet panic stricken looking for style.
Prowling a foodcourt.
Watching their own steps.
Never wondering what is waiting below them.
From under the mall.
The many layers of forgotten abandoned products.
Piled and dry in the endless dark silence.
Until the next purge of useless stock finds its way down.
The shelves down here speak like glasses toasting.
Noone would question why, for noone hears it.
One would look for a corridor to reach back up to the mall above.
But like an undertow at sea, there's no way back.
Entwined in a thousand mannequins who have slowly changed shape.
It looks like they had moved once or twice on their own.
Their strange expressions reflect many decades past.
Way back in the eighties when they were stashed here.
And now they've paved over the exit and entrance.
Like a tomb it all just remains waiting for archaelogists hands.
It all just humms in the darkness like a perfect organ,
with no real purpose but to keep itself in tact.
The white mouse was day
The dark mouse night
They would take turns to run the wheel
The saw dust and feces
The running and the anxiety behind the legs
The revolving caged wheel
Glass exterior oneself on display
dark mouse night, white mouse day
Little legs hurry
The religion of productivity
practiced through prayer of scurrying
Fingers touch and mist the glass
Sometimes tapping
Sometimes putting skin on glass
The prints appear as hieorglyphs
Mice eyes attempt to decipher
In a reality where the only noise
is the second hand ticking
Turning it all over
Running around the face
The two greet me
Feel relief
There are no obstacles
Lie down
There is no resistance
Intangible freedoms
Such that would satifsy
For long hours
The ship awaits
It's sails not yet fitted
The wood dry and salty
Lie down
It is anchored
on the quay
Two masts reaching up
Looking over the harbor
Eyes evaluating observing
Focusing and then staring
There is a tightening
A sense of abandon
There is not boat traffic
The bay is clear
But the ship is fixed fast
It will not stray
Here the poet stands in the familiar unfamiliar
You rub your eyes, face of the man unseen
The face is concealed only words can be heard
Words that rhyme and catch meaning
He gives and takes like a tide
stands still between roads
Observing the chaotic
the metaphor flows
The poet stands with words accumulated
He selects which ones highlight reality best
To conjure the desire for a glorious birth
To make way for a relieving death
Nightgown
Material slips easily up the leg
fresh out the bath,
next to the fireside
where hands wait.
like a wilderbeast grazing
slowly makes it's way over you
Slowly and sweetly open
hint of doubt
Then one of permission
as you give yourself
over without decision
The fire cracks
something pushes against the hottest point
It invites the intrusion
as if to absorb it's deeper meaning
Slow moan as it slides up
Carries it's intention to tighten and pulse.
To free burden,
Moving in further deepening
The fire roasts these bodies.
The full range of motion
running through you
lips to kiss
to tongue to drinking in one another.
