rainfall tangoes on my tongue
it tastes like metal tonight my
bullet teeth could say anything

two purple books sit tails between
their legs on my coffee table ran
-som notes to my temporal cortex

low speakerbuzz like a 1979 sci-fi film
i cast my mind like fishhooks;thewires
a two-stop tramline everything will be

ok?

These trips by the county boys,
Being further deputized as burly, armed elves
Tended toward the grim,
Taking them on roads way up in the hills
Where pavement was the stuff of fantasy
And the home-sweet-homes
Were ancient pock-mark and rusted single-wides
Or jerry-built additions uneasily affixed
To some abandoned hunting camp or outbuilding,
Third-hand rugs or tarps covering
Hard ground, possibly augmented with a sprinkle of sawdust,
And you learned not to do more than exchange hellos
With the parents (this just one more minor indignity,
One more for-today-only handout,
The toxic mixture of resentment and self-recrimination
Never far from the surface) and head for the kids
As quickly as politeness allowed, the smiles
(Sometimes positively beatific, others suitably wan,
Knowing that tomorrow would be another day
In a series of just another days)
And upon leaving one such place, a couple of the boys
Heard an incongruous tinkling, this place
Far enough from town and insulated by bluff and pine woods
Where it couldn't be from St, Mary's or Faith Baptist,
And turning the corner toward where they were parked,
They happened upon a black bear,
Improbably wakened and wandered from some nearby cave,
Toying with some improvised wind chime,
Comprised of old graters, 50s-issue percolator stems,
Silverware liberated from some Denny's or school cafeteria,
And as they backed away to seek
Some alternate path to their vehicle, the younger of the pair opined
Must be some angel getting his wings, hey?
To which his partner, who knew these hills
And their sundry denizens all too well replied
You get that bears attention,
You're mebbe gonna find yourself on the waiting list.

Within our langue, we find us, aura of place.
This while life's trapped meanings, words,
paroled, evoked thus, gesture one
through one, and no other.

While without, betwixt words, languid lessons,
failing to be learned, detail broad-strokes
of reality's brush painting us, the canvas,
the world, framelessly framed.

Yet, languorless, from a bird's eye,
this insight, inner flight to soul's
fathomless essence, unweaves
self's tapestry, to begin anew,

a word, path of study, walked it's way.
A time redefined by what's sublime, communal
solutioning concentrating, sans frontieres.
Shimmering stream to babbling brook's nook.

Sometimes I like to go for a late-night swim

I strip down and sit on the edge of the horizon

Dip my toes in the darkness before plunging into the stars

I swim and swim until my feet can’t touch the skyline and the moonlight could easily drown me

I lay on my back and gaze down at the city below me

I watch cars on the freeway and lovers on the boardwalk

I dive deep into the universe open my eyes to observe the planets

Soon the sun starts to float towards me

Wrap myself in its rays

Walk back into my apartment

I grab coffee and watch the world rotate around me

Those nights are when I feel most content

Watching the world below grounds me