Originally written 2/6/19
Distanced amidst the mixed berry seltzer blitz, a bubble too open, I am refreshed. Coconut dregs to the other direction. These are the swamped days that burst out like chrysalises after the need to exhibit (share) energy has been expressed. Gray countertop punted into view like political anchors. My hair is a bath of soft line drawings. Sketch comedy. Her eyes shooting me down like bullets: out of where, and where, and where comes the next exceptional (and acceptable) intrusion? In forms expressed. Bob Cobbing. Robert Ashley. The unrivaled psychosis of new person. New human. Our hearts beat like gull-flaps in gale gusts. Earlier: several hours I’m reading CDMX Blues like it’s short, of breath, and the world (Ode nada) feels alive and full and pulling down from the cross (Tom Waits now, then, again). So many decades. Mexico 60 years. Mule 20 years. My god my youth the eternal sadness of that burst of time’s ultimate orgasm. The receiving end of the entity of our times minus times so just “our” smile.
FIERCE is what the may sez when he’s dead and frozen joy-cam from my early 20s, I was the punk addict impression on the world that was or was not needed. I dream in better understanding “horror” as a concept. Have I been horror to you, to me, the plastic godless skinner of clouds pile of soot o robbers my fingers like cradles for microscopic worms my skin the lousy state of eruptive (pre) Buddha dance(hall) with flailed limbs releasing glass vessels FIERCE! & it could be that this inquiring mind yet one more seedling the WE ARE VAT theory the continuum of simulation theory (the referee to Joe Rogan and Elon Musk and the symbolic aperture of smoke, in its corrupted commodified sense). Fascinating case study, with feet of flames and for the sentinels of bickering to scream (albeit softly and intentionality) down Road of Echoes. The definition of the limit is set to include a kaleidoscopic path of hills and turns. Imagining doom keeps the pressure going and personalized. It sits like ink before this newish moon that was long cyclical before rest and can dance again in blue glades.
1 thought on “New Poem: In the aftermath, days later, of soul touching”
It’s…..happy. very nice.