the seagulls are sleeping to fend off the heat which weeps from the air.
everything is quiet, hoping the stillness will radiate, form crystals that will
masquerade as ice.
even new lovers can't bear to be near
their body heat melting their skins before they've come together
in the way that lovers
a hint, a single drop, falls from the sky, like light
yet the terra firma has eloped with lava,
and the dharma bums have taken their leave
in the jungles tonight.
we'll watch, and listen as the whole planet sizzles.
astrological mind games.
there is a plastic apple in the middle of a table five stories below my feet. we sit in the wind and the trees as the leaves funnel skyward in clouds like yellow bullets in slow motion. there aren't enough to saturate the air, but they catch in my eyes even from miles away and hold me still inside the vaccuum of air they are suspended within. a globe of noncircular time haunts the canopy of trees, and as single molecules multiply, they begin to magnify, their preoccupation of space. the lake is whipping itself into a frenzy, rolling in sheets inches above the horizon, and sending notes like fog horns just below the surface, until they reach the shore, when they smash into the rocks and split sound waves into ten million tiny carbon bombs. the zodiac voice is out and ringing, pulling planets from the bricks and the boards. letting them fall into place while they spin carefully across angles made of unborn chaos. memory, of course. the attic born prophet continues to splinter the mysteries, but in the background comes the rumbling of some great beast. metallic, and angry, it is the churning of mindless joints, cast from steel, driven by the hunger of its endless smoky heart. deus ex machina, in reverse...more or less. the flicker of heat lightning draws me out of my tortured meditation, and my eyes drift down five stories to the plastic apple. it has been left half eaten by the invisible man seated in the courtyard.
things to remember:
being a mirror.
temporary molten copper hearts.
"as the world bursts apart on literary fascination, and the weather."
finding a pistol in a drawer full of remote controls
the muse is awakened.
the storm came on like a cyclone and the trees came down...
white caps racing their way towards shore.
this beastly thing of lightning struck through water,
the muse is awakened.
the water was rising, and you were in a fury, and
we all stood behind the glass and witnessed.
and we all stood behind glass and witnessed.