let this view be for him: how it must—
the echo draws the lingering soul out of me
but it stays for it whirls and it makes me cry
but the hour of the day to impress you sings the joy
of the One —he stops and I come towards the rain,
and an impressionable glow of horn creeps into the sauna,
and it lowers my body, giving me the “immeasurable” chills:
but still these are words: god is in here, yes, god is in here—
god is way inside the violins and the dreams of these chords
he hits these notes and these horns play as if it was a cliched night
my aching god, my body falls in line with his movements on the drum roll; my neck moves, my hips sway, my waist penetrates the other day into the next morning for it is ephemeral :
the little windows of babes that twirl in these sounds in this rhymes in sight of his horns—filled with city nights
they sound like city nights like lurking blackness over trees and buildings lit up with windows of orange-yellow-opaque and she dances in the background—
this trumpet-woman: she dances, she does a spin she is trying to get her spin; she is trying to get her tap, she is trying to get in the door—she is stuck in the door
the key, she is fumbling with her key—little flails, a higher flail, she flails, she heightens—
she is close to opening the door
she sticks the key, jamming it in there— she turns she turns, she twists she twists: the keys
she takes a breath. — . she turns, she twists, she turns, she twists—
she walks away from the door, the key stuck in there
she staggers trying to learn how to walk again; drunken, she blares out, she blares out in the city coughing and her saxophone belting—she squeaks, she slurs, she blares, she whirs, she slurs, she blares, she sings, she screeches, she whistles through the day and the night
:four trees breeze by her, black skirt flow and taxis pass by her:
lame sounds into the wind, she keeps going. lame sounds into the world—she turns, she twists, she falls slightly, she skips and steps and she turns the key! she inhales [ ] ankle twist her arm trips,
her wrist squeezes into her pocket; clad all black—the stars join her and she sings lamely into the night, her voice reverberating throughout the leaves
a car yells as she repeats the night:
she sings out lamely, blares and twists and turns and she walks to the door—crickets pray, the car yells—she rests her head against the door—cars yell and honk, driving through her door: the door is open: the walls talk to her, the stars all watch her—she limps through the halls, the trumpet, the saxophone limps; the doors watch underneath: peering into the skirt of the trumpet: the hosiery adorned legs cramped and relaxed: tension jarred and stirred, wiggling free: peeking at the shiny bronze in between the bridge the way the air flexes around her
it changes shape towards her daily repeat nightly motion of monitoring the trapeze\
the sky gives atmosphere and volume into her hair—the realm
of being stuck, she is stuck and repeats: she is stuck and repeats
the lame song and blares into the ceiling: the empty missing ceiling—she blares and croaks and lamely walks to the steps of the day. it is night.
her eyes follow the trail up their Stare, and as she goes up each stair she feels despair pouring out of her porous eye’s pores that are open, and eyes closed to the velvet touching her uvula-*****. . . she drowns on these stairs and stains . . .
cannot make it up—lame song— cannot —blaring —despair
exhale ][ inhale [] exhale ][ inhale [] prana ... lame .. . prana ... prana ... sati ... samadhi... liberate citta ... drop the poor chord: lame, lame song . . .
she limps up the stairs, each foot hitting each stair twice:
up down down down down up up up stagnant stagnate up down down stagnate — up down stagnate stagnate — blaring blare — loud: cranky! — she drunkenly sings, sways up the handrail, pours out her drink down the roof, and watches it fall:
the doors open, all simultaneously, whilst she looks down the stairwell pouring her drink down there for all to have: "Share joy, turn the key! Share, it is stuck! Get it out of the door! Open the door..." she shouts, she blares, she levels out. she yells.
lame song, limping . . . drunkenly dressed. Sloppy. utterance, muttering, low voice, trembling, yet now repeat the motion of the night. — realistic night days of the sophened mind, she blares, she cuts, she blares, she lowers— accelerationist accrucianado — "Dressing me out : the worst way to die go figure:! The constellation shows you!" lame song, blare, drift, loud lame limp. she walks further up the steps—the same song repeat, quivering now, more gusto, more braggadocio: "drawers long. inhale. prana. paroksha. indirectly." she opened once again: concerto opus *****: quiver, blare, blossom: the stars shine now, and she sings while they fall around her—
she refrains, they fall, glidely, she refrains. she refrains. they fall, glidely, she refrains. she refrains. they fall, glidely, they drop, lively. swiftly. sprightly, brightly—she drinks in her own drinks of drown, she goes down the octave. down. there, the sky changes waving around: now over the highway, she blares loud, floating in the sky, floating above cars, and the traffic below her . . . she blares out croaks: she croons to them the same truth of the heavens they couldn’t see and she refrains loudly, glidely:
whizzling up there—her drool drizzles down there—inside and outside—pumping in, the throbbing joy: thrusting divine, thrusting angels—hayorically she moves dizzily over cities—oceans above her—traffic below her—she cramps up, the stars guide her
her more sing move; she waves more,
to the passerby, the clouds drift by for love/ no love /she drinks more love/ to the god where she blares, she croaks, she wheels out there, into the world cries of a never harmed One:
of a One never divided into Many: and she and the ones in a 50 foot radius are hit with atomic blasts the size: bruised and battered flesh, heart is black and body is blue, but the spirit is incorruptible and the spirit remains when the body burns when the sun dies lamely flying, limply stars guiding—
drool stuttering from each pore on her, she drives away in her no-more vehicle: this is the last body, and she knows this: and she accepts this is her last body, as she flies over New York City,
drifting with the race cars, absorbing each and every person and being: crossing roads that never existed, singing songs to nobody
city noir -
