Keep your sparrows under glass
and parody flight with your hairless balloons
tethered to a Blarney Stone.

Look where your eyes have stopped seeing
and believe none of it, for fear
of believing anything at all.
But only if you're willing
To never change.

And Mute is your-
favorite button
to never go
missing.

The metallic Everest plasma of the old Wishing Well
Had an Abe Vigoda aroma with a nostalgic veneer
Of lost roads and upset carts.
The fumes are like gossamer limpets
On your golden soul, in a fitful sleep-
to rival all awakening.
The very air had a door that wept glee
and sang of dark angels brooding over
slabs of pie and squandering sunrise
to fork a tongue.

You are always there,
however the leaving arrives.
You’re like a hat
on a hat
Without too-
wise.

Now imagine this.
You have all day to get somewhere
but you haven’t any goldfish…
And that makes you king of the world.
but you can’t lance the boil until
you abdicate the throne of Yarn
and bind a cat to your shadows’ pearl.
The black thing you carry in your pocket
is the eye of all Typhoons
in your lap.

Imagine opening your eyes-
and being surrounded by Thursday!
So much velvet tinkering with grey things
and gimlets… torchlit fantasies slurry forth
in an unending tide of appetites
disguised as appetites
in disguise.
Sunspots on paper plates
and taffeta medallions
all in love with blue cranes
and very little else
that you lack.

Imagine that.

to see you is like someone lost a bulldog
and the dark side of the moon, bathing in night
is all the fingers I have to grasp your leash
to tether a star to your ice wolves
and sandstone.

to touch you is like someone lost an odd spark.
and the heart collides with an afternoon,
laden with Hematite and
Doll’s Eyes

All the wrinkles of a rampant peace
besieged afterdark with your knives cool
and your limbs
numb.

To see You is like Someone-
Lost Someone.

I can't go anywhere without Being There.
but I’m not around so much in a Prison.
I tend to wander.
I claim the sun in a hole
when I’m in it.
And ponder
wings.


II


stones i have known are not
your average stones.
so i steal cameras.
to see something other than-
granite as a heavy peppercorn
Or The stars, an -
Other than-

Something Other than Me


III


these are the dreams folks.