tides

dropping into the wave. seeing your own shadow rising up, gray against the water. what is frightening? the feeling of riding a roller coaster without rails, the knowledge that your delicate skin and bones can be swallowed up by the froth, jetsam and whim in which you steep.

little tea leaves, go forth. permeate. let your flavors muddle and meld with the heat, the water prepared just for you. your black twining oils rising to the surface to greet the lips that will savor you. forward fold, feel it in the knees, let them bend as your head hangs heavy toward the core of the earth. deep center, deep magma, pendulum swinging ever closer to the pins. one by one, echoing in the massive memorial chambers of france. proving theories as the world spins faster.

we used to hold the shells to one ear, to hear the ocean. we used to drive with tea cups in our hands, and never spilled a drop. laughter, hot tea, swilling and threatening to scald us in our school clothes, our sunday bests. black, green, checker board, the rules were left where they belong. when we got to the water’s edge, we watched little feather heads drop into sneering curls and rip tides. pressing down as they sailed along, gliding down her salty thighs and jumping ship when she noticed them.

shading our eyes wth beveled hands, as if saluting the sea’s consorts — the ones she spared — we smiled with red lips, cat’s eye lenses and cotton blouses tied at the star of our ribs. gingham. bike wheels spinning. bottomless tea cups. jasmine purring in the kettle. watching the brave battle on.

palladium

do you have a roadmap layed out already? do you remember the difference between lay and lie? when to lay, when to lie, when you've lain, lied or laid?

so hard to push everyone out of the room, hold both doors shut with two hands, full weight leaning into the wood, head hanging between parallel arms.

still very lovable. a tree that grows from one room to another, overflow, a crowded foyer leading to a small cafe that only serves st. germaine in various forms - and the lights are always off. for the effect of eating after hours, being somewhere you ought not be, invisible, anonymous.

push them out and lean hard into the door, remembering a song with one lyric throughout the entire four and half minutes: ease iron. you'll keep them out. you and whose army?

the banjo breaks into a crescendo -- heels click on the sidewalk, kerchiefs fly up like puffs of rainbow smoke, throw it all off, leave your rings at the door, my darling.

distracting eyes across the table...it's not enough to be bright. you have to do what you are, you have to display all of the ingredients in your spice cabinet. if it doesn't make sense, you're doing it right. one glance behind, one half smile at the way it was, get out here! you owe us all that you are, an explanation, you can't hide forever.

my dear, my only one, watch me sleep these demands away in a little desert cradle. you were the taker, i was the maker, we met and down came the rain. but you can do what you want. and i can change my dress.


ohhh. man.

buskers on the loose. shoeless, sun setting, golden raisins in the park.

you are what you do. if you want, you can walk the prada belt of the earth counterclockwise, run up the down staircase, malinger on train tracks, shove encyclopedic spines out of place, snap delicate glassware, or watch trees photosynthesize. image and destination versus truth and journey.

harmonize, feel how sound moving through your body can open your heart. how horizontal stripes can make you wider. how pressing pedals on a bike can make your sleeves flap.

i used to think that something great was always around the corner, that some day my life could start when i got these other things out of the way, then i realized these things were my life.

lighting little candles under baskets, desiccants, yucca, purple-veined flora choked, papyrus. no basket shall be spared, each one alights and soon, the whole state is on fire. up in flames, poof goes the ranch. charred doorways where prison bars used to cast piano key shadows. blood still cut off, oxygen rich and lucid, kept there until the curls straightened out and order was once again restored.

 

something good

Something good, oh something good tonight will make me forget about you for now.
Get high, hit the floor before you go.
Matador, estocada, you’re my blood sport.
But something good tonight will make me forget about you for now
Forty-eight thousand seats,bleats
 and roars for my memories of you.

Now that I’m fully clean
the matador is no more and is dragged from view.
Get high, hit the floor before you go.
Matador, estocada, you’re my blood sport.
Forty-eight thousand seats, bleats
and roars for my memories of you,
Now that I am clean
the matador is no more and is dragged from view.
But something good tonight will make me forget about you for now.

-alt j