the guitar is at rest, perched against the barren wall
that stands between the outside world and the fathoms
of a Living Room. A couch festooned with pillows
and pet dander.... as the Sun's last rays cleave
the dun brown
of cabin fever,
echoing off
The walls

without a sound.

Your Horoscope today, reads like an open palm
floating on a feeling that dangles from your gypsy heart
entangled in the Dharma throb of an all-nighter.
sipping whiskey from a flask of gin... with the moon's skirt
flipping your hair to the West, as you bow to the East.

full of long drums and Absinthe, your shadow leans into Paradise
with an icepick and a candle. The lemon eye of a wrinkle
in blue - protrudes through the canvas
of your flat space
to the Very rest
of You.

your trajectory is far removed from your Reason.
Stars aligned, no longer plot. But they -
Highly Recommend.

the charts suggest that you
are the Squire
to a Lost Night
in Profound  
Lament.

But your Wings
are like the Miracle
your Levitation
Dreamt.

It's too bad you left me stranded.
Kept your heart to Yourself
when you landed.
Swept away, -
I came right back
for you....
I did all the things
that did nothing
for you....
Apparently -
Love is a needful chorus.
A song in a drum
with a melody -
foreign...
like every Tree you can't See
For the Forest...
or
the spotless Love
you blame for
It....

on my quest, i come upon the shores of long night.
i can smell the butter and the iron blood
of my Shogan. fat and lean in the smoke of my misadventure.
i draw my sword with a crayon
and a pearl from a cut.

i cannot move when the rice is sleeping.
i cannot drink when the Sake is broken.
i cannot hold a vulnerable flute
and be nothing.

the street out there in the Streets, got those eyes
that mark you as you pass by. as you stroll through
the misbegotten voodoo of your mind worms
you just might have a David Lynch blooper reel
and a Cosmic ray of uncertainty in a bottle
barking the stolid Oak of your Delirium
so the rain cannot penetrate the pith of your Delusions.
i am the king of a sofa and a much squalid.
parked in the dank blip of a valley in a heartbeat
cancelled out by the hum of a Be.
and I cannot
Be,

but the parasols of my inner lightning, speak.
they march from fingertips from the ether of my solid Noise.
i am granted, underneath... full access to the torrent
of the everlasting sting... and all the chambers of the heart
where joy outlasts every living thing.
and i snag my hammer on a good nail, and clip barnacles.
vexed in the extreme, and my humility
invisible. and the cackling ingots of snow
caught in the spine of my mouth, singing to a gaslight
in February.
how i summon the snakes, the Saints won't say.
but they are happy to see your thorns
sinking into my Happy
Place.

I came to Summer's Orphanage after a spat.
Fair weather was upon Us. but -
We conjured ill Will,
even as we kissed.
so ponder that.

my tonic had backfired. and that was that.
we crushed all the lilies there, where -
we we're entangled in
suspect Glee.

if it came too that.

but the arguments were embraced
and all the butterflies were slain
for frisking the pockets
of our brief
Faith.

and the Sun came up, regardless.

seeping into the verdant green of our posthumous lawn
with our wide eyes clipped and the noonday sun...
folding sparrows into cloth and breaking bread for no reason.
stumped on the miracle, but ludicrous and undone.

it takes everything you ever wanted
to get what you got.
it doesn't take more than you know
only the spin of your want.
we sleep in the hills, where the valley squall
is crushed... but our love is just enough
to be in it.

O' how the rabbit hole is cozy fuss
with little wriggly baby ducks
that lost the pond
but kept enough petunias
to ignite the
moon.

if anything
is thing enough
with everything a thing and such...
would any thing be there
for what ?

and why are you
reminded ?

Our kisses are the descendants
of our affection, Cousin to our grief.
and the midday sun through a thicket.
Our embrace like braille for a ******.
he may not be blind, but he cannot see
any reason
to not please you.
Love is the first fire we ever knew.
we chased our comets and slept in thistle clouds -
barking at the afternoon.
we sleep in a van, parked in the palm
of an Unknown God.
and joy is the kingdom
of tickets.

gooseneck barnacles are laughing at the sugar in your coffee.
you snip sunshine from the heather and embark -
upon the journey of your life -
as a slave to pickled goat and lemon spheres.
you Barley up the pipe, and the rain retreats
to the beckoning... humming in fierce clouds
and singing nothing
but return,

the sum of all Deer, are casting spells into your blind spot, probably.
you can't find a truth in your grip, until it's dark.
and on the gurney, you find the angel, fallen on your behalf... imprisoned.

wyrd.

and you -
have something
fully lost.

I will what I will. Just like you do.
I come from the outside, on the inside.
and i know you've been there
too...
it's a shame but we
might be ******.
and I might
be you.

we could call it a day, with
the night removed.

all this love
without
proof.

living in the smoke of my desire
always moving against a shadow
that has no name, but your mask.
i come about. as faithful on the sea
as a dead whale... i choose to linger
in the hemisphere
of your too important
atrophy.

and regret sail.