12 - 29 - 06 COLLIDE

COLLIDE

say nothing as you bellow forth with no pride your colors your textures
expecting not fame or fortune but more - enlightenment
to be taught the way to live from you
the way to see and feel about our time
about butting form to form
clashing color
running dribbling sliding under and over where least expected
learn then from the collisions here from the way things fall and manifest themselves
without your intervention but instead your invention to seize when the time is ours again

OF FICTION

OF FICTION

curving smooth round edged raised
natural untouched by hands
plush and filled with meaning
non needy; stands alone
evolving; sucking the light
projecting profound subtle whispers
eating oceans along side JJ
quietly making history as it floats
on ill papered walls
hence its name
where by all things inanimate
come to life


* OF FICTION PART 2

I am of fiction as I am of fiber
Of this day of displaced times and myths
For to think otherwise is madness or artistry

* NOTE:
A non-fiction entity? Would that have me carrying the factual pods; palms to heaven, glossy eyed, staring, walking in a mannered, deliberate, determined step - two, three - to deliver a fact - based agenda of correctness’s; speak for a cause or four; site history and wince when you find out the flies ‘re buzzing and buzzards hoverin o’er their prey
I can no more be fact than a page of pulp, let alone a non idea; fictitious or not, that postulates the rhetoric of rethreaded ire, of damnations, of damned Nations….
Of omitted events, of half truths, of blatant lies of the pomposity of circumstances…
Nor is it accidental for truth to be stranger than…. and might we add less filled with truths - than fiction…..and then as we watch the march of angels come hither and anyone dreams of me ‘say’ for some years after with a heaviness, with hatred…well I suppose they will just might forget me as if I never existed….

SOLO

SOLO

back inside the underside of a lit but dwindling light
rests my stolid un yielding desires for solitude
for my unrequited yearning to be free
of all attachments young and old
to run through the stasis
of my limbs
to dive
headlong
into
the waters of a new life
the evolving life I've made for myself
alone and filled with fantasies that sustain
that build and grow each moment only to be interrupted
by the banality of every day routine machines and their thin crusted emptinesses
at present my longing is ebbed by the subversity and secracy derived from keeping it to myself