circles Nov 29, 2012

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do you ever feel so small that you feel big?
coiled up in your head, behind your eyes,
a distance of only a yard becomes an immeasurable chasm...

every where & dots
dashes coming in a long th
e walls interfereing w/ th
stream of quiet in my ears
dripping out into cupped hands
a thick shimmering of every color
where words have dissolved
and every thing only
circles
& dots on the skin little
prick points (stray moon rays)
drag out to lines curving all
over edges of dry leaves angls
sharpedged messenger in my ear
how quietly you drag&tap out
little circular sermons (familiar like last year)

in the fireplace the flame licks the darkness
where in the back is an abstract winged embossing
and suddenly i am in a candlelit black room
across the table from your hidden flickering face

which makes it difficult to judge distance
would that i could walk around any corner to find you

bright red liquid is pooling on the floor
coming down the wall here behind the drier
and in the corner of the sitting room
and upstairs it's coming from the attic

SOME OF THE THINGS I WILL SHOW YOU HAVE NOT YET HAPPENED
AND SOME OF THEM MAY HAVE HAPPENED , SOME WH*
IT IS NOT FOR ME TO SORT THEM OUT ∫∫∫ſſſssshh, forget

it's dark up here, the light switches don't work
and we're all ready to pair off
tomorrow there will be pooling on the floor
behind the drier and in the sitting room

in the biting cold at least there is solace
in condensing breath, in silverblue moonlight
for i have the memories of a river &
the patience of a drop of water
who continues to fall across the face
of an autumn apple every morning nd evening
for this moment is every moment
i can not tell one apple from another
i wish i knew how it would feel to be free
just kidding they all look different
BUT THEN IT WASN'T ENOUGH

"A trout, a trout! My kingdom for a trout."

you must climb the stairs through yellow fog
and pass the traffic cone to become a ghost but i can't
i would stay here and guard you
but i can't do it, i can't do it

jealousy like anger is a terrible habit
but you are the Midas of my heart

worse than tilting at windmills i grasped
a straw in an empty cup under the wind's command
& i sung nd the crickets took notes

when i was buzzed and thought i couldnt' come back
i put it all into a cup & i poured it out
folded my hands and listened

but still they burned
marched in
disturbing my balance

but i was still

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