Listening to jazz around 4 am and the otherwise silent room shudders.
The soft amber lamps dance and then mood shifts down a gear.
Somewhere between the faint smoke swirling in the brown glass and the
late arrival of perception crashing down.
"There are other worlds than these."
The dream was lost, there was some break in the links and time
has given us nothing but faint recollections.
Song remains the same,
men still war,
lies still breed,
serpents still wait in the garden.
So here I sit waiting to cross over,
to return to what I have left in that other place.
The record spins and this world fades away.
Melt away what I see everyday and replace it with
the parallel.

These are the stitches that fuse together wounds,
made by words,
made by mouths,
which cannot perceive what truth is,  
why it is, where it lays it's hands
in this putrescence we call home.

I am full of sinister self, ego wars within,
making my own Golden Goddess to worship.
Praying for faith
and still longing for pods of swine
in this flesh.

So where is the line in the sand?
My queen dresses in the guise of rags
which she prefers to a royal gown,
and I in pauper's cloth am none to chide her choice.

Streets are eroded and slow in  the heat of a Texas Summer.
Garbage piles up on all sides of the neon glow outside the dens of revel.
A noxious scent rises from the guts of the downtown chaos.
The last notes of the night become faint as the barkeep gives a last call
and weary youth stumble home on rusty wheels and
fresh memory.

Still there is a hunger
unsatisfied.

There wasn't much in there, the ancient lawn mower a few other forgotten things. In came a few rotted chairs pock marked with holes, and the transformation to a palace was complete. We held court in green cloth robes all around like fairy wisps. We emblazoned our names upon the rusty sheet metal ," this will be here forever." I said. Forever is a cruel joke, 20 years or 2000, it makes no difference. and now in the palace where my fathers tools lay rusted and ramshackle, do I reminisce of days gone by, scrawl my name upon the wall anew. Oh my kingdom, my kingdom for that shed.

Sterile room full of falsehood drains the youth from my face.
The mind drifts away but the prison remains.
Can, I recall all of the wasted hours. Always in a line march the drones, but this is our prescribed life. The laughing clock points it's hands as if ridiculing my very thoughts. Lunch, traffic, store, phone,game, bathroom, office so many moments. Someone will wait for my funeral to start, and wait again for the burial, wait to bring flowers to my grave. And some will wait for the new babe to be born, others for messiah. I am waiting for the nurse to call my son's name, and I will wait to hear that he is in good health, so that we can have a brief respite from the all life's weights and waits and laugh once again.

The Star glimmers, turns and shines my eyes out.
She is a quasar,
melting sadness,
radiating His beauty.
Her voice is here with me.
Her song lives in me all through
the night.

Angelic form descends to the water's edge.
Slowly the porcelain skin is enveloped by the cool dark,
until only golden locks rest on the surface with head tilted to heaven.
She glides through the emerald's embrace, perfect form rise and fall
rise and fall in the tide.
and all creation holds it's breath to watch her bathe.
Winds grow still, and the great star slows to grace her lovely visage .
She is the object of attention, the mother, the vision of woman made mortal
Venus, Helen, Cleopatra, Marilyn, she has so many names and none of them are worthy her.

Blue is the color of this music, weaving looms of silken poetry all around, but right now it is just mine.
My own stone groove, my embellished improve layered over it . breathing with the rhythm, leg twitches the off beat like it has a mind of it's own. Open the left gate that way we can dance through to joy, or is it the right?
What?
What is?
What is right?
What is right now?
Something Blue in these notes
just shut up and dance.