Third Eye Candy

Third Eye Candy Nov 2018

All the Dungeness Day our barnacles cling to the hull of a coconut -
with none the wiser. i often worry this spot of bother with penetrating thought
them come about Starboard of True North
with my southerly winds swirling in a giant tub
on a porch… where Once, God Sat -
And Tossed Stars.

Third Eye Candy Nov 2018

Quite Frankly

in Paris they have incandescent cigars and croissants. they nosh on hot buttered steam
arm in arm beneath absinthe umbrellas. they have tyrannical berets that hate pompadours -
and nothing is good enough for them. of course unless its Nothingness......
with Juuust a pinch of Sarte.

Third Eye Candy Nov 2018

A Swarm Of We

They are not wandering, these atoms… they are moving.
Life exhausts all time with its endless mortality
at speeds above Reason,; we conjure as we go, and continue
forever briefly…. like a petulant swarm -
of We.

Third Eye Candy Nov 2018

The Bluebird Of Almost Happy

The feral corona of my precious sunspot; sings from the heart
of a collapsing star… without moons or harmony.
Only the perfect sound of a Lost Hope
building a fire to defy it. A fire so cold it yearns to conflagrate
like an imperial furnace of wishful thinking…
A life, become an Om -
Like an Omen,

{ a bluebird choking on a song }

And winking.

Third Eye Candy Nov 2018

Darker The Sun, More Red The Rose

when you are empty like no other emptiness
as full as you. when your stars are cross
with your horizon and bitter with your shroud.
when the east is where tomorrow plots your demise.
and the west is an echo of an omen, fulfilled exhaustively.
when the night is just another daybreak.
when the owls lapse into “ Hoo is doing this to me? “ and conjures a mirror
for your consideration.
when long notes drown in their beauty
before the melody even begins.
when with a darker sun, more red the rose….
less dead, all things

we are young.

Third Eye Candy Nov 2018

Budging The Noodle

while surfacing in the liquid grove of our punji sticks
and pine sap fire
we lose our hearing… and whalesongs become a myth
as we emerge from the abyss -
as abysmal as a flotilla of spirals
and as deaf as a merciful nod.
but we see the Sun
for the first time.
and with our beginnings begun -
we be gone...

beyond.

Third Eye Candy Nov 2018

PATH BLIND

have you ever been “ path blind“?
i suspect you have/are and we meet
where the moon is Mars.
and that's ok by you -
as long as we talk about the Limbo
in my teeth and not the nothing -
in your fear.

but I’ve come this far
to tell you a story

if you don’t
mind…

[ i have a Mind for You. ]

with words that finish when you do.

II

it was no November as much as an under- June with a callous cap of snow
for a sun, and all the peanut brittle in the Universe.
November, then, was a remarkable Moth that knew
an incandescent flame from a Terrible Beginning…
and our youth -
is the difference continuing
to fear the light,

euro trash savvy.
and outta
sight.

it was no November on the map of things, it simply wasn’t polite.
the leaves abandoned their posts and drifted down below the feet of angels -
once pale green, but now in anguished orange, as floral as a living thing...
but dead. and on the ground. at an angle.