For the first time in my
life, I saw colors- not like
normal people see colors; my recent woman
sees colors all the time.
This morning, there was
purple splashed all over my room.
Once, in her sleep, she said
the word 'purple.'
I asked her what it meant,
she said, 'Knowledge of the future.'
I know she will try and ***** this
sickness out of me; God Bless her.
What do I know about the future?
I know it looks bleak, and the
doves are crying.

~
So where did you go?
Where in daydream tarnation are we?
     If only you could see my exodus
     and relent

Where are you now?
Matters of blood and connection
forming at the mouth
we are the fabrication
      --an image apart from ourselves

To break is something sacred
in the Morse code of brake lights
     through time stained windows
     through a thousand contractions
the dead are getting younger

If only you could see me
walk into the blackness
not to build a fire
       but melt, wander, disappear
       and relent
       relent
       relent
~

Saint Tropez is a summer town.
Smaller than it ought to be, really.
Like when you realize the French quarter,
in New Orleans, is just three blocks wide and long.

In the fall, there’s a feeling of disuse in Saint Tropez.
A turquoise bike leans haggard against a stone pine,
and summer leaves gather in gutters like trash.

Your appearance in a bar is treated like a surprise.
The wait staff gathers, like they might take your picture
and not your order - one brings napkins another the menu.

Summer memories are indistinct now, from disuse.
You aren’t sedated by sunlight and warm ocean airs.

Was summer some French, romantic, cinematic fantasy,
like "La Belle et la Bête" or "And God Created Woman"?
Or was it deliciously bright, seductive and real.

You find yourself saying, “In the summer, when the thyme,
lavender, rosemary, citrus and jasmine bloom, the aromas
are strong, actually physical, like going into an Ulta store,
where a thousand delicate perfumes vie for attention.”

But it’s like describing ghosts or deserts under glass.
You search for the words, like a poet or an actress, unable
to remember her lines - lines that would make it real,
invoke it, precious and immediate - like a spell.

The Saint Tropez of summer.

In The End

       Well there’s two sides to every coin
And there’s two sides to every story
And in every game there’s defeat
And then there’s obviously glory

There’s riches in currency and
There’s riches in Silver and Gold
There’s a life of youth and there’s
A life you spend when you’re old

There’s sparkling shining jewelry
Beautiful Necklaces and rings
There’s a plethora of worldly possessions
So many meaningless material things

Some might say that it brings true
Happiness but it’s just fake
But you believe what you wish and
By all means get all you can take

But life is temporary and so is everything
In it and that’s the truth my friend
You can’t take it with you and there’s
Only Heaven or Hell In The End

Written By:Charles Kean
02/15/2024

unspoken Voice say nothing
as well
as unwritten Words

Deeds done unnoticed,
unheeded, are beheaded in quiet
Solitude

private Executions
in a Smokey courtyard, pulsing
with Electronica

It's a Plain world
and Fancy words don't do it justice

I rap Words ordinarily
Lisping the loop to synch
with a Caller:

Chattel, chatter, and chatting
under azure Seas thru black
Cables

I hear skin and touch tears

I lisp loops like a f*g
being Scratched on an 80's
Turntable