leo and pieces of prescience
(thank you gary)
waiting, for
which is already
here
hearing, one voice
vibrant syllable
still
stealing, seconds
pass as buses blur
by
blinding, stage lit
omniscient smiles
spread
out like elegant eagles
with wings of wind winding around windows of
fir and cliff, clipped
branches break under weightlessness,
waiting, for that
which is already
here
faces hidden by hands open to squeals of glee
a memory or a photograph of a memory
mauka -
for mandala manifestations do often make
molehills out of shag carpet walls
wailing and flailing catholicism in the
streets of midnight rivers and lakes
licking shores of certainty
where sandgrains ground themselves
bracing for lightning electric or treated water
waiting, for that
which is already
here
a cough, love
a couch never less comfortable than the inflatable reverse merry go rounds
merry go up & downs of dreams
dried eyes
or apples or apricots
apologetic jots and scribbles on the backs of scrabble blocks
"the have nots
have it all,
do they not?"
me and chris leo in a lilac
bush
a brush with LIFE
a brush of hair
out of the eyes
of inspiration -
a breath
coming
into
you
SHOUT ON THE BUS
SHOUT OUT THE BLISS
be a little kid playing peek-a-boo with
strangers strangeness has never
known let alone
envied
ivy climbs walls, but do we
watch or do we
follow?
the sun
the one
the two
the sixteen
HOME
we flapped our wings and
flew down laughing streets
meeting neverknown neighbors
laboriously lifting bags of trash
treasure the holes
in shoes
in you
in trays
of ash
phoenix, i
come back to
you
do
not
do not celebrate
life, let life be
the celebration
like ants in orchestral form
less
ness
like cats biting the naked necks
of monks, a forgotten beast beat by
burrowing beneath with furrowed brow
a hindu cow calmly chews
the straw strewn across akimbo arms
of the horizons, her risings and sinkings
like elderly eyes forgetting to open
the windows
the wind blows
the birds chirp
usurping
the silence
the word is
vague
the word is
angel
the word is
spoke
like a soft-skinned joke
by a
yellow-breasted bird bremmin
speaking telepathic:
"you've never changed, and
angel you never will."
dandelions and tigerlilies
dancing and laughing
laughing and dancing
to the breeze beat of
bearded bulls eye visions an
embroidered eternity envisioned and running
down the lightning-licked legs of
the laughing ones
unlocks locks
unlocks locks
love repeated - a
magnificent mantra magnifier -
choirs of quotes,
writers of notes,
flyers of kites,
shiners of lights,
blinders of night
finders of heights with an
apogean appeal
pick the peak
seek the sick for the health hidden beneath
these streets
these roads
these footsteps
these rootsteps
these dirty fingernails
these poems
for it is
beneath and
between
where
meaning has
meaning
meaning, do nothing or
do it
all
one
two
i am with you.
waiting, for
which is already
here
hearing, one voice
vibrant syllable
still
stealing, seconds
pass as buses blur
by
blinding, stage lit
omniscient smiles
spread
out like elegant eagles
with wings of wind winding around windows of
fir and cliff, clipped
branches break under weightlessness,
waiting, for that
which is already
here
faces hidden by hands open to squeals of glee
a memory or a photograph of a memory
mauka -
for mandala manifestations do often make
molehills out of shag carpet walls
wailing and flailing catholicism in the
streets of midnight rivers and lakes
licking shores of certainty
where sandgrains ground themselves
bracing for lightning electric or treated water
waiting, for that
which is already
here
a cough, love
a couch never less comfortable than the inflatable reverse merry go rounds
merry go up & downs of dreams
dried eyes
or apples or apricots
apologetic jots and scribbles on the backs of scrabble blocks
"the have nots
have it all,
do they not?"
me and chris leo in a lilac
bush
a brush with LIFE
a brush of hair
out of the eyes
of inspiration -
a breath
coming
into
you
SHOUT ON THE BUS
SHOUT OUT THE BLISS
be a little kid playing peek-a-boo with
strangers strangeness has never
known let alone
envied
ivy climbs walls, but do we
watch or do we
follow?
the sun
the one
the two
the sixteen
HOME
we flapped our wings and
flew down laughing streets
meeting neverknown neighbors
laboriously lifting bags of trash
treasure the holes
in shoes
in you
in trays
of ash
phoenix, i
come back to
you
do
not
do not celebrate
life, let life be
the celebration
like ants in orchestral form
less
ness
like cats biting the naked necks
of monks, a forgotten beast beat by
burrowing beneath with furrowed brow
a hindu cow calmly chews
the straw strewn across akimbo arms
of the horizons, her risings and sinkings
like elderly eyes forgetting to open
the windows
the wind blows
the birds chirp
usurping
the silence
the word is
vague
the word is
angel
the word is
spoke
like a soft-skinned joke
by a
yellow-breasted bird bremmin
speaking telepathic:
"you've never changed, and
angel you never will."
dandelions and tigerlilies
dancing and laughing
laughing and dancing
to the breeze beat of
bearded bulls eye visions an
embroidered eternity envisioned and running
down the lightning-licked legs of
the laughing ones
unlocks locks
unlocks locks
love repeated - a
magnificent mantra magnifier -
choirs of quotes,
writers of notes,
flyers of kites,
shiners of lights,
blinders of night
finders of heights with an
apogean appeal
pick the peak
seek the sick for the health hidden beneath
these streets
these roads
these footsteps
these rootsteps
these dirty fingernails
these poems
for it is
beneath and
between
where
meaning has
meaning
meaning, do nothing or
do it
all
one
two
i am with you.