POETIC LICENSES

 

  Phurbas into the ground! Contain all the dark energies that abound this time of year, then project them into a sharp object as it is stabbed into the Earth....There....that feels much better.......Clinging to remnants of the fabric of childhood, with associations contrived to give new meaning, reversing the inexpressible praeternatural longing that stymies the logical devices of youthful process thinking, aged children, drooping petals of spent flowers, call to figments of their past, grasping for understanding, compassionate renderings of their own histories, the completion of grounded dreams and expectations, the revelations of constructs that are but fabrications of necessity. Veristes

  the green becomes grey and brown, coiling into Halloween shapes.... now weightless, lofting into the breezes.. then crashing, broken, already becoming the stuff of tomorrows, in the endless recycling of matter and energy......

  as the vacuum rushes to the still of nothing, feeling the elemental parts drawn to distance, the weak bonds of thought holding the abstract, tenuous strings connecting the all and empty, an idea occurred to me that liquefied the construct of indivisibility, planeing the coarse irregularity of comprehension and connecting the liquid reality..... Yet, still without words to make it so, the inchoate ghost of realization would not yet take form.... though, in my mind's eye, it was as real as the words that attempt to make it so...Esse Est Percipi......

from my first psychedelic days........after my first 'reefer' 1966 Written, Discarded and Rediscovered, a poem written on a scrap of paper, with a 'property of the U.S. government pen'........I must have heard "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" before writing this......I assume, anyway...but the poem is dated 1967!....Who knows? I must have been smoking something in Werner's private bath room on the top of Building 4200! On another scrap of paper.....were the lyrics to 'White Rabbit'......Go ask Alice! I sat in tweed and redwood, thinking; But, lost in thinking, fell asleep, and dreaming, dreamt Of curious torn plastic trees And tangerine lemonade stands, An arc of animals, helter skelter...running, My palms against their backs. Water and straws, ice cubes and limericks, Poems of cream and of plums-- Redolent roses, fresh grass and Keats; Hallux distortion, Charles Darwin's feet, Yellow parakeets, blue crocuses and peyote flow...

Oscar Wilde went to prison for being naughty......Yet, our politicians commit just about every imaginable crime against humanity, human self-respect and the welfare of the Nation that they presume to represent and protect........work for as little as a couple of years, then run off with 'our' money, leaving a trail of deceit and deception that few, in the past, were even 'on to'.....It's time to indict a few hundred 'suits and ties' that grandstand behind cameras and microphones....as a totally confused Populace watches a million edits, stammering lies in the saddle, and general ring-in-the nose cattle roundups for the slaughterhouses of contempt and despair.....

  the largesse of writing repositories ........[ants will move  boulders to reach their underground depositories......full of the soft putty premonitions of the same stuff, with but the tiniest  alterations in the genes....and the unconscious expectation of something radically 'different' from a twist in a chromosomal  sequencing........]  Eyes 'forward', Truman.....the streetcars aren't even stopping 'there', anymore......Mrs. Stone kicked both Blanche and Stella to the curb to get some 'piece' of Mind....and Thomas Lanier is re-writing The Fugitive Kind, just to keep the typewriter working.  Sometimes it takes a shiny silver shovel to 'shovel' this sibilant shit......or, so says my sobering sobriquet....  Perhaps, then, you can hear the 'Dogs Barking' at the 'Summer Crossing'....whether its coming from Alabama, Tennessee, Mississippi or Georgia.....or,  from 'not quite random juxtaposition'....... Have another drink,...