kids scoop pudding to their lips
make forms of the clouds
careless jets cross the sky
the parents have a custody arrangement
when I feel like taking care of them
the kids sure eat a ton
Out toward the center of the lake, august summer nights, the water dead calm. the atmosphere uninterrupted, both surface and air. they could not see one another and could no longer hear all the commotion on every shore. a loon gets lonely, too.
and there despair was born. made it’s way up the long and slender throats. the necks pointed to the sky, and curves of beak parted, opening throats to air. the saddest melody filled the lonely night with sound. echoes in every cove.
we were young and holding hands. snuck out with flashlights to walk the banks to the painted bridge. hidden in the deepest shadows of the canopy, on a new moon night. drawn together out on the island, waiting. long winter a distant memory.
listen… the aching pain of solitude is calling! before i only heard your sweet voice. so small we are… touching your soft warm palm with mine… feeling your breath on my face… i may never feel so close to you again.
borderline felt fenced in again and jumped from side to side. she took the bridge to nowhere and climaxed @ 100 in her ride. finally she could breathe. the tears got blown off the side into gray sky and fell to darker waters. the contrast was kindness to her eyes. guns was on the radio. a kiss from axl rose to make it better. she found a wild flower on the river bank and wove it into locks. kicked some rocks and walked back to her car. the radiator fan still blowing out the heat. when the rains began to hit the pavement, well, she liked to believe she started all that storm.
trouble pushed a curse off the edge of a busted lip. didn’t care. got home after lights out. escaped into comic books when bliss blew up again. was secretly oversensitive and cried himself to sleep. only little sister knew. courage was taking the brown glass, pushing skateboard through alleys to the vacant lot. smashing bottles on the old brick wall. broken feels so good. all was left of home. all the necessary rules lying there in liquid and why not? culture never did nothing. some day with little sister’s help he would write a letter. hitchhike outta here. find a paper route and a giant wave to surf. santa cruz will do.
the composition shifts a degree
the whole world
the fires far east lick the earth
suffocate the seaweed
2 air-conditioned hearts
tokyo rising sun
4 chamber orchestra reflects
sails stretch out for perth
eight less eight
one in eight and eight of one
lives in shadows
of the sun
where all is of a hue
translucent eggplant blue
and songbirds whistle
encased in film