you need what?

think about a wishbone
walk across the street
take another bus
you place things and mold
environmental things - a book, a place for water, slippers, pens.
time in living rooms becomes nothing
it dissolves itself
but you have no chair to sit
no desk to work
lives with purpose
i've come to a new place in the winter, there is cold, there is opportunity, things are very tight and not much juice.

shapes of the neck, patterns, a construction, of bones

fortuitous misfortune plastered in the curls
of historical whispers
under the bed floors
and the milky sheets
of a page in the slumber of a time
legends and wrinkles
maybe they knew something we didn't
maybe it's going
wispy flames

my suitcase drags on the stone floors
into air i can't breathe
without
solitude and nose hairs

here i've found my gem, the cravings
the wanderings
the coffee shop bustle with the string of intellectualism flossing my teeth
standing on platforms built for talking
i stay for a time in this space
to which i am a virgin
and i lick it up like salt from a shot
and i shoot it down and bite
but i can't finish the second and third
all is too boring by then
and i want something only
simple and lovely
a cabin
steam
grapes
books
records
dust
greens

do

click publish post on this poem
speak with lover, of love and lovelies
use my body on the earth
contact old friend
do work things
exercise fingers with strings
puppets
take herbs and cleanse
shed
start something new
do this again

rhyth

m

the build squash jagged train
smokey the bulldozer
jolly jelly bean roll
wither flower into cymbal crash bird
fly fly fly
if it doesn't make you move
shaking chains in dungeons
tapping a pillow with your dreams
kicking the minutes on repeat
a dangle from the lash of your beating eye
missing the snare on the whole piece of pie
and you wonder why
you haven't learned to dance

dissonance churns
when you aren't playing
when you cut the jam
and your spread across a sandwich in st. james infirmary
croaking the blues
without the bones to know
your knows from your snot

the fierceness of the charge forward without compromise
your bull in the skull
still, twitching

1,2 before bed

keep death in mind and close
looking at trees and sunlight on water drops
wet air deep
parks and play
moments

work with hands
outside
sweat and breathe heavy
push
build things
work on land

line
greenonwhite
tiles
noise on rocks
bit nails
pulling between and splitting apart
birth of a never
ending with a.

2

moon tonight was hiding but i was whispered its grandeur
calm for a chase i rode with tea and pursued the pearl with curious sips
and holy blues
(the side note for the evening which must be dealt with - the ancient arrow, the bare bones of music, heard more and more as the blues begins to peel away into my marrow and i can hear it u-shaped on a couch, pure from love, being delivered the soul of robert johnson. the rhythm, the simple complexity. the more you hear the more you feel. the more it is you. like haikus, imprisoned in form, but scraping the greatest depths.)
rattling and cool air licking my face.
moon holding a secret light spraying the sky
giggling around the curtains.
i turn my head to see but no.
i choose to chase the moon tonight so i swerve sideways up a great hill, inhaling the monstrous mountains that outline the majestic evening with a jagged greatness that gives me an odd feeling of a fairytale which then pushes me down a rabit-hole of connected thoughts which leads me to now which happens often which is basically the strangeness of all the days and nights and the twists and characters and plots and terrors and creatures (as i pass by two bunnies moving their tiny noses on the side of the road, ears straight up in all seriousness)and i wonder at the hiding moon and applaud its great act for the evening, thinking i might catch the laughing face some other night if it tempts me a bit more, but tonight was only a small tease in a city of jokes and the chase is always on just like nothing hides forever and we still run everywhere after something, despite the loveliness of standing still, which we sometimes do too