Disappointment

It's hard to explain without being petty

but 

I felt locked outside in the winter

watching people at a warm fire

I was unable to get the lock to work

my key was old

and out of place

meanwhile

people were parading down the staircase

spilling wine on marble countertops

and sighing

as they plopped down to 

laugh 

together.

I am outside anyways so I will

listen carefully

for the howl 

of the

wolf.

There is a little White Fang in me.

Perhaps I'm just worrying about the sled dogs

happy, sloppy and well fed

when I need to be out running

without a harness.

My Gums

What if I removed the thief in his sleep from the freedom he was keeping from the slaves and the scattered graves, dug waist deep.

What if I reminded the spine on the crawling snake to stand upright and rise from the basket when the flute soared through the humid sky, deep in India.

What if I presided over a jury, judge and all, with a staff and then felt myself falling 

like when pulled by the undertow

and was taken to the bottom of the sea

What if I did not fight, to be me?

The stolen glances of butterflies, scattered across the winds

where he blows like a cloud

waiting for me 

to play air guitar

and put my gums in the freezer

stop yapping with clients

and play.

Another guy, one with a dark shock of hair

said he disliked post modern poetry

and I think that's what I am writing

but I try to pepper in reality.

I feel condescension sticking to my gums.

Why not ascend, like the snake?

Simply called by a sound.

Marionettes

The languidness lifts but not before she sneezes

her knees are knocking from too much Red Bull at 2 a.m.

and the puppets are out on the street again

without their strings

marionettes

we are.

Just waiting for fingers

he whispered to me to stay out of trouble

but I'm not some hoodlum

wrapped up in cellophane

Done

I'm done picking away at each little thing, every mark on the permanent record. I'm done reading by candlelight, it'll hurt your eyes, if you're not careful. I'm done reaching for the doorknob when it's time to go, I'm done talking to you for hours. I'm crawling out the window. See you later!

Basket

He said knowledge is like water 

in a basket

in a leaking basket

was actually what he said

a leaking basket

knowledge is in a leaking basket

you must pass it on

pour it into another basket

Another basket

Yes another one

If the other basket is full

you can't pour the water in

so keep an empty basket on hand

yeah

He said we all built the country together

the labor and the intelligence

we all built it together 

there's no difference 

between your life and mine

He said we all built it

together

I told him

when I was trying to be witty

that he could wear a t-shirt that said

"I'm with /\

                 |

The arrow would be pointing up

Like "I'm with HIM"

but it's not a he, just the 'whole of existence'

that's what he would say

like he's with the sky

I find myself thinking

he must have

no time for these mortal things

material things

material world

yet 

I can't stay a tiny molecule

forever

The West Wind

The thunderbirds are coming down from the sky torn to pieces

are my churches and my schools, bent into shadows are those crying for their lives

somewhere does the gypsy singer moan

reaching her gnarled hands to the sky

her leaves and autumn dresses have surprised us all

after all we were waiting for spring.

What color is a mirror?

Only the colors it reflects.

Likewise let our dreams not be eaten by dragons.

Let's eat the dragon.

Let's cry for help, a war cry

a little boy.

Let us never forget again.

Let us be proud and bold, on horses, waiting not for the West Wind.

Navigation

Navigation at the gates skating tagging true trimming ripped and wrapped the traps are winning keep down.

Navy blue gas masks gagging the mitts and pins wringing the towels dry before hanging them on the line.

Naval battles are not won or lost at sea they are won or lost in the minds of those

who sail.

Where the Guitar is Leaning

The rug has orange-rust and gold colors

highlighted with cornflower blue. The patterns remind me of ancient Turkey

or the Middle East. The acoustic guitar leans on the rug toward a stack of things,

a broken amp, a make-up case and a camera.

It leans on these things, a tower of creativity.

The broken amp.

The make-up case.

The camera.

These things make sound, make artifice, and capture life.

The guitar does all these things.

The rug mainly just covers the floor.

Yet without its wild patterns

it would just be bare wood

hardly a breeding ground

for creativity which requires many intricate threads

to be woven together 

with purpose.

Twitter

Technology has officially surpassed thought.

Right now

the intellect of the world

is a vulgar car

with all cylinders rattling.