Sunday, March 16, 2014

a little memory in frozen March

never mind that it's too late to move onto a farm
and in a dream isn't there alway somebody leaving
never mind the warnings the gas lines need replaced
never mind no one agrees what love is or even what the weather is or even a what  a song was
never mind the movies aren't worth the matinee price
never mind what used to be a memory worry seems now a dwindling peace of mind
never mind there was this swell idea and that idea is still like hearing birds in the morning
in that dream somebody's leaving a pile of stuff on an old brown car and they fidget as the sky turns mustard and what you see on the person is the faintest smile like a figure on a Mona Lisa print
never mind I don't believe I survived either the stone age nor the cold war
never mind I've forgotten the combination to the bicycle lock like someone fucked up on daytime tv
monday monday the bells are ringing and somebody calls for a dog with  honey voice
passing  strange wide awakenings kissings games
never mind thinking how DNA might save it all now
never mind who's asking or how the precious mettle is or what substance makes who's desire
put everything aside and listening to the recycling truck
never mind things like quantum or nostalgia or utopia or underwear and a technical screw up
never mind that set of misunderstandings
never mind pitch perfect necessities and how in the music they fell so good
never mind the window gets smaller while a target grows and fills the window
never mind the mourning doves and that who- who - who call that you always answer

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Details equals details

There's something mysterious in the rain blown against a fence by an afternoon wind.

Mortgage payment was due. Insurance check arrives in the mail.

There's something mysterious about a broken branch dangling by a tread in a yard.

There's something mysterious thinking about low tide while sitting in a house in Vermont.

Any clock will hold the mysterious. Any doubt. Any laughing to oneself.

The way lines of geese are rips in the veil of the sky.

When the phone rings while you're watching a movie that's mysterious.

Taking about a closet and refurbishing it to find maybe lost money is mysterious moment of maybe.

Mysterious quiet. Kabuki dawn. The sky on a John Cage trip.

A slice of bread and the hunger that went before it and which cannot be remembered.

A runaway dream where you can't get away. The computer gear that keeps loading and loading and loading until you need to make a decision. Some woman playing with her tired curly dark curly hair and stretching into the back of a green wet car and smiling kindly in profile.

It's mysterious to know something and not find the origin from this information.

Mist gliding away in the trees is a mysterious contrivance that wants to be so rightly cinematic inside the eyes.

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