“THE TENEBROUS DEATHBED SCENE”, VERY LATE,

FROM FAR ABOVE THE CUTTING ROOM FLOOR

 

 

 

near the end

Violaceous  clouds could stir to nearing.

My mise en scene set,  I’ll be blocking the shot,

Readying my stand-ins,

Cueing the soundtrack.

I’ll need special lenses to capture the light,

To be faithful to the script.

 

Our years had passed, right alongside our precious bonds of memory.

One  light came into here, far brighter than the full- moonlight did.,

Dead onto here

She had signed off   on a missive  to me

With

“Love, “

 

 

It might have been one long neon light

In the laundromat that set her off

When it flickered & popped

At us/ Everyone up late

Our eyes were hypnotized some

All bets were off

On what might happen

She was the first to go

To distract us from our books & hand-machines,

Pull us from our puzzles, also  our magazines

Her  saying all that nonsense  AA

Interrupted that late night scene

Her calling names out

All intense, her pleas   fowled by fire

We stared some  & stuck out someone’d stop her

Her call to fallen reveries

Her own  effin reveries

 

 

 

8

FIRST DRAFT FRIPPERY

March 30, 2020

 

 

The nab risked squandering his quarters

Despite the nights rain,

He’d fight to stay the payphone,

Risked squandering  his quarters,

Meant to be spent toward a quart to take the day  to done.

So he’d hang up quick as Go

So she’d ring back

If she was in a curious mood.

It wasn’t too late

(But maybe that’d help)

.

He’d be ready,  with his 1st draft.

Damn, ink already ran onto his icy hand,

Trailed off his folded page

Of  falderal,  frippery,  & doggerel.

Worthy words  to win some time.

He’d force his forte’  over the phone

If she called back.

If any  would mercifully allow

A curious mood

A furious  mind

This time

Of night.

.

.

.

.

(from very long ago)

 

 

 

FIRECOLOR

December 17, 2019

landscape-1819553_1280

Too late darknesses,
To too early empty dawns,
On to one firecolor
Promise of one more sunrise.
Go on, roll down the window.

F I X

November 18, 2019

finding re-regrets

and vexed reveries prove more

pronounced this evening

.

find the fix is in

sleeplessness is a cozy

unsolved misery

.

.

.

sleepless

“THEORETICALLY”

January 30, 2019

“This  ole  sot

Theoretically  is   empty,”  he went,

“Momentarily  anyways.”

Faces death, & all that rot,

Not to say, not so long before  he’s meant.

He sifts scenery…all Regret.

But m’Lord of Mercy. .Not that scent!

 

“More of whatcha  got,”

Forwarding his fine glass there,

“Don’t stop  just yet.”

 

 

 

20190130_161954_Film4.jpg

 

 

 

 

Splash something stronger at the base of my pint glass

It’s  more  fertile  earth

For to birth the guts & gas

One might need at night

To go on   & drive clear off

Dark  high-wire  highways

Onto red dirt, rolling on cooling red dirt, to dead ends

So bleak  a laugh comes out as a clearing cough

Ink can slip onto  and stain a page

I think it can permeate a world around

it that can see it then re-see it new

and adapt it to the stage.

The symbals clash, the lights rush up. Both astound

A staring crowd.  So start up yr. casual

stroll from the wings, not forgetting yr. casual

role.

C R U M B L E D

August 29, 2015

When my time’s up,

I bet, When it’s time to settle up,

&  I’m front & back  up against the barricade,

I bet, I dare  to gawk and glare

Past the barricade.

.

I’ll scarcely be scared

Or  ever

The least bit biblically

Humbled by heaven.

.

I would

I could not  certainly see

The  foals  and fawns there,

Pups,  piglets,

&  All our infants.

Eaglets  soar  there

.

uncharacteristically,

I would not mind waiting.

still

.

.

.

“Very little grows on jagged rock                                                                                                                                        Be  Grounded                                                                                                                                                                      Be  crumbled                                                                                                                                                                   So wildflowers will come up                                                                                                                                             Where you are”

-RUMI

FORELOCK

August 13, 2015

Some girls forget what they get.
Some know,  but don’t know enough,  to go  let it go.
Some girls might save & hide it all night, then days
Bite the bullet. But I know
It could come off in their face.
The first thing/ I’m home/
All the tall drink I own/ & breakfast/
Down the hall,to my own  in her nest.
She lets me in, secretly signalling
In our speakeasy codes, a speakeasy knock,
And I’m in.
A lock.