Saw Wicked in New York City
Man of La Mancha too
Rode the free bus in Chapel Hill
Carolina blue

Als Ick Kan, Mr. Markson
The best that I can do
Snowfall shunyata
7372

                   And you.

it’s like marrow, but older
here.
carrion don’t reach it, even in  flaunting
  it’s most disemboweled humiliation-walk





heeding.blacksoilmemorymothermoist.promisesstill
         gemming
         away structures for later-
      realization.beneaththeforced
chastity:
of:::::::::::­
:::::::frost


gleaming hot
carcass.,:://:/:/:/:., ,.teasing a thawed word,
if only to satisfy the
aching, fetishized spit
of our.snarling.smiles”:;::;:”
inside.the                        enc­ircled
p l a t t e r.  world
bending, wordless giants_earnest to the
will of
windandicybondage

creak away in the night

lap
lap
.lap
.lap

lap.
      ;

A mendacious murmuration
  of black pixels dance a fractal fandango
  against the pale pink sky
telling you that all is well with the world.
A susurration of complacency–
  above the exhaust-scented streets
  of Birmingham’s melting asphalt–
whispers, “Don’t worry,
ignore the heatstroke starlings
dropping from the sky
onto viscous pitch dark bitumen”.

sirens bawl
clear skies mean no school
(prospect of drone-strike)

the mystery of delicate petals unfurling
into forgiveness.

the forest of evergreens and silent flowers,

oh, tender heart, my love,
the gentle spirit when days are more gray.

walk with me through the riddle of
the silent and cold universe,

the sometimes warm and starry sky,
across clouds, the moonlit landscape
of mountains and snow.

run with me
naked under the flower moon.

she smiles, oh, that flower moon,
locks her arm in my arm,
hands me tiny purple flowers,

and says, it's only love.

I’m listening to a song,
that’s captured my mood.
What’s the singer saying?
If it knew, I’d sing along.
but the slurry words elude.
It’s an artistic choice, I suppose,
and I don’t require deeper meanings.

A squirrel stands defiantly in the middle of the path,
A tiny, furry-tailed, usurper - quite out of the routine.
“Hello fluffy rodent,” I baby-sing, as it watches me,
“What an odd meeting, are you hoping for a feeding?”
I try to pass but it jittery-scampers and cuts me off.
"I have a test, get out of the way, you crazy nut-thief”
I glance at my watch; l might really be late to lab.

So, I leave the path to the possibly rabid rat.
if it comes at me, on-God, I swear I’ll kick it,
launch it ballistically into the evergreen thicket.
How I long for a coffee, hot and sweet,
or a sandwich and salty chips - that would be nice -
but then I would be late for class. I sigh in defeat.
It started to drizzle. This afternoon will be miserable.
.
.
*Songs for this:
Out of Myself by Bebo Best & The Super Lounge Orchestra
Jettin' by Digable Planets
.
Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December!
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_15.mp3